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“why didn’t you let me know?” 





FAITH PALMER 

IN NE.W YORK 


BY 


LAZELLE THAYER WOOLLEY 

Author of 

“Faith Palmer at the Oaks” 

“Faith Palmer at Fordyce Hall” 



Illustrated by Paula B. Himmelsbach 


THE PENN PUBLISHING 
COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 

MCMXIV 


COPYRIGHT 
1914 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 



JUL 21 1914 


©CI.A376729 

^ 0 / 


Introduction 


In this, the third book of the Faith Palmer 
Series, the scene again changes, and Faith is 
found among new surroundings, and, in a 
measure, among new friends. Betty and 
Kathryn and other close associates in the 
former books still remain companions, how- 
ever, and take conspicuous parts in a story 
that moves rapidly. 

The first book of the series, “ Faith Palmer 
at The Oaks,” told how Faith came from 
California, an orphan, to live with her two 
old grandaunts in their New England home. 
They had lived alone so many years that at 
first they hadn't wanted her, but she soon 
found a way into their affections. She had 
some lively adventures, and, at the close of the 
story, was getting ready to enter Fordyce 
Hall, a boarding-school on the banks of the 
Hudson River. 


3 


4 INTRODUCTION 

The second book was “ Faith Palmer at 
Fordyce Hall.” It took Faith through part 
of a year, during which some stirring things 
happened. 

In both these books Faith developed in 
character and ability, yet retained her sim- 
plicity and sunny temperament. Rather 
oddly, the grandaunts developed, too, and 
finally, in the present book, they come down 
to New York with Faith for the winter. 

Here in the metropolis are phases of life 
not seen anywhere else in America. This 
book is the story of Faith's life on the eleventh 
floor. 


Contents 


I. 

In Tight Quarters . 



9 

II. 

Night .... 



27 

III. 

The Eleventh Floor 



44 

IV. 

New York Fences 



56 

V. 

Things to Eat 



75 

VI. 

The Unneighborly Neighbors 



92 

VII. 

A Pair of Gloves 



99 

VIII. 

A Penniless Girl 



118 

IX. 

The Week-End Party 



129 

X. 

Stowing Them Away 



144 

XI. 

Down Fifth Avenue 



165 

XII. 

The Monster Behind 



178 

XIII. 

The Unfriendly Car 



186 

XIV. 

The Man in the Lobby 



201 

XV. 

Up the Fire-Escape . 



213 

XVI. 

A Cooking Lesson 



223 

XVII. 

Brenda Castle 



232 

XVIII. 

Too Much Noise 



244 

XIX. 

An Invitation Declined . 



254 

XX. 

Breaking into New York Circles 


266 

XXI. 

A Toy Home 



284 

XXII. 

A Lonely Caller 



296 

XXIII. 

Burned Toast . 



3>8 

XXIV. 

To the Grand Central . 



33 ° 


5 




' 










































































Illustrations 


44 Why Didn’t You Let Me Know ? ” . 
44 Please Let Me See the Bill of Fare ” 
He Helped Himself . 

44 1 Think N6$v York Is Wonderful” . 
“I Am So Glad You Came ” . 


. 85 K 

. 152 

• 235 

• 307 • 


) 



v 


Faith Palmer in New York, 



7 



Faith Palmer in New York 


CHAPTER I 

IN TIGHT QUARTERS 

A yellow taxicab stopped in front of a 
huge apartment-house on Seventy-ninth Street, 
not far from Broadway. Night had just set 
in, together with a driving rain that beat un- 
mercifully upon the umbrellas bobbing along 
the sidewalks. Umbrellas, indeed, were of 
small use in the gale that howled up the 
street — a raw, chilling tempest that went 
through to the marrow. It was only Septem- 
ber, but New York shivered and crept dis- 
mally home. 

Dismounting from the driving-seat, the 
chauffeur of the taxicab opened the door of 
the passenger compartment. From it emerged 
a head, which withdrew when the wind and 
9 


IO 


FAITH PALMER 


the rain struck it. Then it emerged again, 
this time with more aggressive force. The 
head had a voice. 

“ Mercy ! ” it said. 

“ Come on, miss,” advised the chauffeur. 
“ I'll hold this rubber blanket over you, and 
you can make a run for shelter. You’ll get 
soaked standing there.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind it myself, you know — I 
rather like it ! ” said the voice, which was 
rather girlish and pleasantly modulated. “ I 
always like the rain! I don’t mind getting 
wet, but both my aunts have the rheumatism 
dreadfully ! ” 

Then the head came further out, followed 
by the entire figure of a young lady rather 
small in stature and attired in a blue street 
suit of excellent cut and fit. For a minute 
she stood there, the rain pelting her. 

“ You see,” she went on, “ we packed our 
raincoats in the trunks. That’s what people 
always do just before it rains ! Here, let me 
take that rubber robe, please ! I’ll bundle up 


IN NEW YORK 


1 1 

my aunts, one at a time, and get them into 
the house as fast as I can. There ! Now 
careful, Aunt Abigail — don't slip ! Oh, we've 
got you I Don't hurry too much, auntie ; it's 
only a few steps. See — here we are ! " 

Having escorted a tall and rather feeble 
old lady to the vestibule of the apartment- 
house, the girl and the chauffeur returned to 
the automobile for the other, who proved to 
be rather plump and unwieldy, and feeble 
as well. The old aunts were really grand- 
aunts. 

“ Lean on me, Aunt Debby," said the girl, 
solicitously, but with a twinkle in her brown 
eyes. “ Lean on me — you know I'm stronger 
than I look." 

The rain continued to pelt, but at last the 
three of them were out of it and the taxi 
driver paid and dismissed. Before going, he 
had set some hand-baggage into the elevator 
for them. 

“ Third floor," said the girl, as she gently 
shoved and elbowed her two charges into the 


12 


FAITH PALMER 


car. “ We have come to occupy Apartment 
310, you know. Only please don’t jerk the 
elevator — my aunts are not used to it.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” returned the elevator boy, 
banging the door shut and giving his lever a 
turn. “ That’s the furnished apartment on 
the inside. Mr. Tookey’s folks lived there ; 
they’ve gone to Florida for the winter. But 
they left their maid for you, all right. She’s 
been looking for you — I guess you’re the Pal- 
mers ! ” 

“ Yes, we’re the Palmers. Can you help us 
with these satchels when we get out ? The 
trunks will be along later, I suppose. Mercy ! 
I wonder if everything will be soaked. I 
hope it doesn’t rain like this often in New 
York. Why, it has rained ” 

“ Third floor,” announced the boy, bringing 
his car to a stop with a suddenness that al- 
most caused Aunt Debby to sit down in a 
heap. Then he slid open the door, seized the 
satchels, and followed his passengers into the 
corridor. 


IN NEW TORK 


l 3 

“ I’ll show you the way,” he said, patroniz- 
ingly ; “ come along.” 

The old ladies had been almost speechless 
up to this point, having all they could do to 
mind their steps and follow their eyes ; but 
now the taller and slimmer of the two found 
her voice. 

“ Faith,” she observed, as she looked up and 
down the dimly-lighted hall, “ there is too 
much marble here, and not enough light and 
air. I am afraid we shall find it exceedingly 
gloomy. ” 

“ But this is only the corridor ! ” Faith 
remonstrated. “ I am sure we’ll find the 
apartment real cheerful. It does seem a little 
gloomy out here in the hall ; but I suppose 
they can’t help that in New York. Do be 
careful, Aunt Debby, not to slip on this tile — 
there ! have you hurt yourself? ” 

Aunt Debby, the plump one, had just been 
saved from falling by the elevator boy, who 
dropped his satchels and caught her. He was 
a stalwart youth of sixteen. 


H 


FAITH PALMER 


“ I am thankful that we have no such floor 
as this at home,” ejaculated the old lady, get- 
ting her balance again and moving gingerly. 
“ For my part, I prefer carpets to stone.” 

“ And kerosene to these miserable electric 
lights,” commented the other aunt. “ Our 
parlor lamp gives more light than all of them 
put together.” 

“ They are small candle-power here in the 
hall, ma’am,” explained the boy, in grieved 
tones. “ But I guess you’ll find ’em bright 
enough inside. The Tookeys had some big 
patent bulbs put in not long ago.” 

“ Is the apartment very light — in the day- 
time, I mean ? ” inquired Faith, as she piloted 
the old ladies around a turn in the hallway. 

The boy’s face was dubious for a moment. 

“ Oh, I guess it’s light enough,” he an- 
swered, with a laugh. “ Anyhow, it’s as light 
as most New York apartments. Of course, it’s 
on the inside.” 

“ On the inside of what ? ” asked Aunt Abi- 
gail. 


IN NEW YORK 


15 

“ The inside of the building, ma’am,” he re- 
turned. 

“ You are a saucy boy ! ” said the old 
lady, negotiating the slippery floor with 
caution. “ I did not suppose it was on the 
roof!” 

“ He didn’t mean to be saucy,” assured 
Faith, rather hurriedly. “ I suppose he 
means that our apartment is on the side away 
from the street. We knew that before — didn’t 
Mr. Tookey write us about it? But he did 
say that it was a beautiful, cozy apartment, so 
I’m sure we’ll find it all right.” 

“ I am not so sure ! ” sniffed Aunt Abigail. 
The boy regarded her with some curiosity. 

“ I shall be very glad if I find it at all,” re- 
marked Aunt Debby, again getting her bal- 
ance after a misstep. 

They came at length to the far end of the 
corridor and saw before them a mahogany- 
stained door, with massive hardware, bearing 
the numbers, “310.” The elevator boy put 
his finger to the door-button, and in a few sec- 


16 FAITH PALMER 

onds the call was answered by a maid in cap 
and apron. When she saw them, her homely 
but rather agreeable face expanded laterally. 
She threw the door wide open. 

“ We are the Palmers,” Faith proclaimed. 

“ Yes, miss — sure I know it.” The maid 
had a most curious foreign accent and a voice 
oddly full and deep. “ Yes, miss ; ain’t I 
been lookin’ for you many whiles ? Come in 
— did you was wet ? ” 

The boy dropped his satchels and laughed 
impolitely ; but Faith silenced him with a 
coin and excused him. 

“ We’re not very wet,” she said, when he 
was gone. “ But we’re hungry — at any rate, 
I am ! And we’re just dying to see the apart- 
ment ! You know we rented it from the 
Tookeys without ever seeing it. We’re just 
going to spend the winter in New York, you 
know, and — and I do hope it’s all right! Mr. 
Tookey said it was, and Mrs. Tookey wrote 
that it was just as cute as could be.” 

“ Go in, child ! ” said Aunt Abigail, rather 


IN NEW TORK 


17 

impatiently. “ Girl ” — addressing the maid 
— “ take the satchels out of the way.’’ 

“ Yes, mum,” The servant bestowed a 
keen glance at the stately old lady. “ Yes, 
mum ; my name’s Ann, mum.” 

She picked up the hand-baggage and they 
followed her into the apartment. Confront- 
ing them was a very narrow hall, reaching 
back straight and uncompromising into dim- 
ness. It was lighted by a single electric 
bulb. 

“ The living-room is in there,” said Ann, 
indicating a doorway off this hall. “ Wait a 
minute — I’ll make the light on.” 

Evidently this light was one to which the 
elevator boy had referred. It was, indeed, 
bright. But the room it revealed was scarcely 
bigger than Faith’s clothes-closet up at 
Chester, where she lived with her aunts. 
Against a window stood a parlor table, while 
nearly all of the remaining space was occupied 
by a divan, two easy chairs, an upright piano 
and a magazine rack. The three travelers 


18 FAITH PALMER 

stood crowded together at the entrance, survey- 
ing it. 

“ What room is this ? ” asked Aunt Abigail, 
supposing she had heard incorrectly. 

“ The living-room, mum.” 

“ The living-room ! ” said the two aunts, in 
unison. 

“ Yes, mum,” said Ann. 

Faith and her aunts regarded it in silence 
for a full minute. Then Aunt Abigail spoke : 

“ We cannot live here. Let us see the rest 
of the apartment.” 

Ann, having disposed of the baggage some- 
how or other, conducted her new employers 
down the hall again. Turning in at another 
door she switched on a second flaring electric 
light. 

“ Diningroom, mum.” 

This was longer than the living-room, but 
not so wide. The sideboard and serving-table 
were placed side by side in order to leave space 
between the windows for a china cabinet. The 
dining-table occupied fully half the room. 


IN NEW YORK 


J 9 

When the six chairs were placed at this table 
only a slim person could pass behind them. 
Ann was slim. In one corner were crowded 
a sewing-machine and a tea cart. 

“ We will see the kitchen,” said Aunt 
Abigail, solemnly. Aunt Debby had lost her 
tongue, and Faiths face w T as serious, with the 
corners of her mouth drooping. 

The servant conducted them, single file, 
through a sort of box that represented the 
butler’s pantry ; but they couldn’t all get into 
the kitchen together with comfort. It was 
very modern and clean, but up at Chester the 
pantry itself was wide and lofty beside it. 

“ Mrs. Tookey called it the kitchenette, 
mum,” volunteered Ann. 

“ Lord help us ! ” muttered Aunt Abigail. 
“ Are there bedrooms ? ” 

When they saw these, the two old ladies sat 
down, and Aunt Debby wiped her eyes. 
Aunt Abigail’s face was hard and cold. There 
were, indeed, three bedrooms besides Ann’s 
sleeping quarters ; but Aunt Debby couldn’t 


20 


FAITH PALMER 


get into hers at all without crawling over the 
foot of the bed, and Aunt Abigail said she 
would prefer sleeping in a Pullman berth, 
which she had never done but once in her 
life. Faith was quite bewildered. She had 
heard of small New York apartments, but 
she hadn’t dreamed that rooms could be quite 
so small. She slipped away to the farthest 
end of the dark hall and cried softly against 
the wall. It was she who had got her aunts 
into this — because she had wanted to spend 
a winter in New York, studying domestic 
science. Domestic science, indeed 1 What 
did New York know about it? 

But presently she heard her Aunt Abigail 
calling her ; she dried her eyes and felt her 
way back to the living-room, where the old 
ladies were seated. 

“ Yes, auntie,” she said. 

“ How much is it we are to pay for this 
apartment ? ” inquired her relative, somewhat 
imperiously. “ Your Aunt Deborah says the 
rental is one hundred and twenty-five dollars 


IN NEW YORK 


21 


a month ; my recollection is that the lease 
calls for one hundred and fifty; ” 

“ You are right, auntie/ 7 acceded Faith ; “ it 
is one hundred and fifty. Oh, I wonder if 
you will ever forgive me 1 ” 

“ Tut ! 77 said Aunt Abigail, whom Faith’s 
tears always softened. “ Tut, child, and don’t 
make things worse by crying. We were all 
unwise in engaging this place without coming 
down to New York to see it. But since the 
Tookeys were relatives of Elder Beaconsmith, 
and the elder had been a neighbor of your 
Aunt Deborah and myself all his life, I as- 
sumed that we might depend on his recom- 
mendations, even though we did not know the 
Tookeys.” 

“ Elder Beaconsmith had never seen this 
apartment himself,” reminded Aunt Deborah. 

“ Then he should have seen it before he rec- 
ommended it ! ” snapped the elder aunt, her 
false teeth coming together as if she meant it. 
“ 1 shall never put any trust in the elder 
again — never ! ” 


22 


FAITH PALMER 


“ We are here,” suggested Aunt Deborah ; 
“ perhaps we can manage somehow to make 
the best of it.” 

Miss Abigail regarded her sister severely. 

“ Deborah,” she said, with some sarcasm, 
“ will you be kind enough to tell me how you, 
for instance, are going to make the best of it ? 
You cannot get into your bedroom unassisted, 
and even if all of us together were to hoist 
you over the foot of the bed and deposit you 
in that inaccessible patch of room beyond, you 
could not turn around. Tell me, how are you 
going to make the best of that ? ” 

Miss Deborah looked puzzled. 

“ Possibly the room might be slightly rear- 
ranged,” she hinted. 

“ Possibly the bed might be removed,” 
sniffed Miss Abigail. “ Deborah, you are too 
stout for New York ; you cannot live here.” 

“ If I remain here long I shall be very 
much compressed,” retorted the other, with a 
half smile at Faith. “ Don't you think, Abi- 
gail ” 


IN NEW YORK 


2 3 

“No, I don’t ! ” her sister interrupted. “ My 
own room is no larger then yours, as you can 
see for yourself. Luckily, I am lean, so I 
shall have a place to sleep to-night. Faith, of 
course, can crawl in anywhere. But, seri- 
ously, we must not consider living in such a 
place as this. To-morrow we will advertise 
this apartment for rent again, and return to 
Chester as soon as possible.’ 7 

“ Oh, auntie ! ” 

Faith’s voice was appealing. 

“ Abigail ” began Miss Deborah. 

“ In my eighty-odd years,” broke in the 
other, “ I have never lacked for space to move 
in, nor for air to breathe. I shall not begin 
now.” 

“ But auntie ” 

“ Tut ! ” said Miss Abigail. H Look about 
you, Faith, and tell me how we can manage 
this living-room. It is no larger than a cabin 
on a steamboat of the Chester and Boston Line. 
It is not as large as the coat-room off our hall at 
home. I shall not live in a coat-room — never I ” 


24 FAITH PALMER 

Faith dashed her handkerchief across her 
eyes. After all, she wasn’t much more than a 
child — only a little over seventeen — so she 
had a right to cry if she chose. 

“ It certainly is crowded,” she conceded, 
with a little wail in her voice ; “ but perhaps 
it won’t seem so bad after we are used to it. 
I don’t believe the Tookeys meant to deceive 
us, auntie. They are so accustomed to this 
sort of thing that perhaps they don’t know 
the difference. They never lived at 1 The 
Oaks,’ you know — the dear old place ! Prob- 
ably they really liked this apartment, and — 
and don’t you think we can grow to like it 
ourselves ? ” 

“ No,” declared Miss Abigail. 

“ It is real clean and nice,” Faith insisted. 
“ The walls are really pretty, and the furnish- 
ings are — good.” 

She came near saying that the furnishings 
were better than the Palmer homestead boasted 
up at Chester, but she checked herself in time. 

“ The furniture is partly mahogany,” she 


IN NEW TORK 


25 

went on, “ and most of the rugs are oriental. 
There’s a real marble bust in the window over 
there. And, 0I1, the kitchenette is just as 
dear as any place could be.” 

“ The kitchenette ! ” said Miss Abigail, with 
a contemptuous gesture and accent. 

“ Let us be reasonable,” urged Miss Deb- 
orah. “ We are here, and it is not the Pal- 
mer way to back out, Abigail. You have often 
said so yourself. When the trunks come I 
have no doubt we can find some means of 

storing away our clothes ” 

“Where are we going to put the trunks 
themselves ? ” inquired the elder sister, bit- 

ingly- 

“ I am sure the janitor has a place in the 
basement,” put in Faith. “ Of course there 
must be ” 

“ Dinner is served, mum,” said Ann, put- 
ting her head in at the door from the hallway. 
This was the only door the living-room boasted. 

Faith was glad of the interruption ; first, 
because she always found it advantageous to 


26 


FAITH PALMER 


gain time when Aunt Abigail was in a mood 
of this sort, and, second, because she was rav- 
enously hungry. The sandwiches on the train 
hadn’t satisfied her. So she lost no time in 
following the servant to the diminutive din- 
ing-room, and when her aunts arrived she 
was seated at the head of the table, carving 
the steak. She meant to be head of the house- 
hold from now on, and take all the burdens 
of housekeeping off the shoulders of her aunts. 
Hadn’t she come to New York so that she 
might learn how to care for them properly ! 

“ Aunt Debby,” she said, “ perhaps you’d 
better take that chair by the door — it’s easier 
to get into it. Oh, I’m beginning to like this 
already. It’s going to be fun, I know.” 


CHAPTER II 


NIGHT 

Faith awoke by degrees and lay languidly 
in bed, wondering what time of night it might 
be. She wasn’t in the habit of awaking in 
the night like this ; nor could she understand 
why she was unable to go back to sleep. 

It was quite dark in her little box of a 
room, and from the drip, drip outside she 
knew the rain was still falling. Somewhere, 
in the dim distance, she heard the clang of a 
street-car gong, and she wondered if the cars 
ran all night. Most likely they did, she 
thought, for in New York everything was dif- 
ferent. Presently she heard the rattle of the 
elevator. This had been the last noise she had 
heard before she fell asleep. No doubt people 
who lived in the building were coming and 
going, regardless of the clock. What a mighty, 

mysterious town it was ! 

27 


28 


FAITH PALMER 


Faith composed herself for the twentieth 
time, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep — but 
in vain. So she fell to thinking about the 
strangeness of her own lot, and the unex- 
pectedness of it all. It scarcely seemed pos- 
sible that she could be in the metropolis of 
America, destined to spend a whole winter 
there — unless Aunt Abigail persisted in her 
threat to abandon or resublet the apartment 
and return forthwith to Chester. At first 
Faith had really been alarmed over this threat ; 
but she did not take it quite so seriously now 
that a way had been found to get Aunt Deb- 
orah to bed. Faith herself had engineered the 
condensation of the furnishings, as it were, so 
the old lady could squeeze inside her bedroom. 

Faith’s own bedroom was even smaller — so 
very small that it wasn’t much more than a 
Pullman berth, as Miss Abigail had said. 
But Faith had always liked Pullman berths, 
and now she felt real warm and comfortable 
and — yes, drowsy. She believed she was go- 
ing to sleep again at last. 


IN NEW TORK 


29 

But just as she arrived at this conclusion 
she heard a step in the kitchenette, next door 
to her room. Instantly she sat up in bed, 
alarmed. 

“ Auntie ! ” she called. This would fit 
either of the aunts. “ Auntie — what’s the 
matter ? ” 

Somebody was rattling some pans in the 
kitchenette, so she got no answer. In the 
hallway she could see the reflection of a light. 
Surely one of her aunts must be ill, she 
thought. Jumping out of bed she hurried 
around to the kitchenette door — and encoun- 
tered Ann. 

“ Mercy ! ” Faith exclaimed. “ How you 
frightened me ! What’s the matter — what 
are you doing here in the middle of the 
night ? ” 

“ It’s morning miss/’ said the servant. 

“Morning! — Well, what time do you New 
Yorkers get up? We don’t need breakfast so 
dreadfully early. Half-past seven will be 
much better. Why, it’s dark as pitch yet.” 


3 ° 


FAITH PALMER 


“ It’s ten minutes past seven,” said Ann. 

Faith glanced at a little clock that hung 
on the wall over the small stationary laundry 
tubs. Sure enough, Ann was right. 

“ But what makes it so terribly dark ? ” 

“ Well,” laughed Ann, “ it did was rain, 
you know ; if it didn’t was rain, it didn’t be 
quite so dark — not quite.” 

“ Do you mean that it is always nearly as 
dark as this — always, here in this apartment ? ” 
Faith demanded, incredulous. 

“ We make light ’nough ourselves,” assured 
the servant. “ Mr. Tookey he get big, big 
glass lights ; so don’t care if be dark.” 

For a minute Faith stood looking at Ann 
in astonished silence. She understood now 
why the Tookeys had installed the great 
patent electric bulbs in the living-room and 
dining-room. Sure enough, they needed big 
ones. But she was wondering what Aunt 
Abigail would say. 

“ Ann,” she ventured, “ I’m afraid we were 
never, never cut out for New Yorkers.” 


IN NEW YORK 


3i 

Then she returned and groped her way back 
to the toy bedroom where she had slept. 
Running up the shade at the single window, 
she peered out. From somewhere above she 
caught a few faint, gray rays of daylight. 
Opening the sash, she put her head out and 
looked up. Fifteen stories above she saw a 
somber patch of drab, from which the rain 
fell into her face. 

Faith closed the window and sat there in 
the deep gloom for a few minutes, gazing 
across at a wall and some black windows 
opposite — so near that it seemed as if she 
might reach them by leaning out. So this 
was the place to which they had come for a 
happy winter ! Night all the time, except 
for those glaring, hideous electric bulbs. 
Night when they went to bed ; night when 
they got up ; night at noon, doubtless. 

She drew the curtain again and threw her- 
self upon the bed, half laughing, half crying. 
It was ridiculous enough, surely ; but it was 
really serious. Could anybody actually live 


FAITH PALMER 


3 2 

in such a place ? Did people really do it, here 
in New York ? It seemed incredible — yet the 
Tookeys had kept this very apartment for 
three years, according to Elder Beaconsmith. 
No wonder they had to get away to Florida. 

Faith slipped into some clothes and went 
to Aunt Abigail's room. The old lady was 
sleeping quietly — an hour or more past her 
usual rising time. Faith kissed her and she 
awoke abruptly. 

“ Are you ill ? " Abigail demanded, sit- 
ting up. 

“ No, auntie ; only — only it’s morning, you 
know." 

“ It is night," declared the old lady. 

“ Yes, but it’s morning just the same." 
Faith's voice was tearful. “ Oh, auntie, it's 
this dreadful apartment again ! What shall 
we do ? Ann says it is always night here — 
always, even when it doesn't rain." 

Miss Abigail brushed her fingers across her 
eyes. 

“ What time is it ? " she inquired. 


IN NEW TORK 


33 


“ Not quite half-past seven, auntie.” 

“ Impossible ! ” asserted the old lady. 
“ Turn on the light, Faith, and look at my 
watch. It is under my pillow.” 

The dim glow of the bedroom bulb vaguely 
outlined the tiny room. Mr. Tookey hadn’t 
thought it necessary to get special lights for 
the sleeping quarters. 

“ It is twenty-seven minutes past seven,” 
announced Faith, a moment later. 

Her aunt lay back on the pillow with a 
groan. 

“ Deliver us ! ” she said. Then she sat up 
again. “ Faith,” she went on, “ we cannot 
stay in this abominable city. It is accursed 
of heaven. It fears the light of day and flees 
from it. I trust you are satisfied, child. I 
trust that now you will appreciate your home 
at Chester.” 

Faith sank to her knees and buried her 
face in the bed. There seemed nothing she 
could say. But at that moment Aunt Deb- 
orah came scuffling in, attired as she had slept. 


FAITH PALMER 


34 

“ I heard voices,” she said. “ What is the 
trouble, Abigail ? Why are you up, Faith ? ” 

“ She is up,” exploded the other old lady, 
“ because it is morning. It is daylight, Deb- 
orah — daylight at Chester, but night in New 
York. We have leased six months of New 
York’s night, at a hundred and fifty dollars a 
month. Make the best of that, Deborah, if 
you can.” 

Then Aunt Abigail laughed rather stri- 
dently, which was a very unusual thing for her 
to do. It was not often that she laughed at 
all. 

At eight o’clock they breakfasted, in dismal 
silence for the most part. Faith’s eyes were 
red and she felt no inclination to talk. Some- 
how, the glare of the big electric light made 
her look thin and pale. It showed up a 
thousand wrinkles on the old ladies’ faces. 

Ann made a very delicious omelet and some 
crisp toast, along with coffee ; but Faith had 
small appetite. The awakening in New York 
was so different from what she had pictured. 


IN NEW TORK 


35 

Living in New York was so different from 
merely visiting there. When she wa|a pupil 
at Fordyce Hall, up on the Hudson, she had 
come to the great town several times on shop- 
ping tours with other girls and a chaperon, 
and once she had enjoyed a little week-end 
party at Kathryn Love’s home on Madison 
Avenue. Of course the Loves had a great 
and beautiful house, with worlds of light and 
air and sunshine. But that was simply visit- 
ing in New York, she reflected, ruefully ; this 
was living there. Well, the tiny rooms 
weren’t so bad ; but the darkness was quite 
intolerable. She was forced to agree with 
Aunt Abigail that they couldn’t live in this 
terrible apartment. 

The solemn breakfast was nearly over when 
the door-bell jangled sharply in the kitch- 
enette. Ann answered the summons, and a 
moment later they heard a voice at the door 
that caused Faith to drop her knife on the 
floor. 

“ It’s Leah Churchill!” she cried, and, 


36 FAITH PALMER 

shoving back her chair so that it crashed 
against the sideboard, she was off down the 
hall. 

“ Leah ! ” she exclaimed, confronting a tall 
and handsome young lady in raincoat and 
rubbers. “ Leah 1 — what a surprise ! I had 
no idea you would come so early. Why, 
you’re in time for breakfast. Oh, how glad I 
am to see you 1 ” 

“ I’m glad enough to see you, too ; but I’ve 
had my breakfast, dear. You see, not every- 
body is lazy in New York, and I’m on my 
way to school. I should have been at the 
train to meet you last night if you had written 
me in time. The letter came this morning. 
Why didn’t you let me know ? ” 

“ Because I didn’t want to trouble you,” 
Faith answered, hanging up the caller’s drip- 
ping raincoat on a hook in the hall. There 
was no room for a regulation hall-tree. u Of 
course I’d have been awfully glad to have 
you at the Grand Central Station — what a 
tremendous depot it is ! But it didn’t seem 


IN NEW YORK 


37 

necessary to drag you out like that — after 
dark. Besides, New Yorkers must be inde- 
pendent. I am a New Yorker now ; at least, 
for a while. I mean to look out for myself 
just as other people do. But oh, Leah ! I’m 
afraid we can’t stay here. We’re in dreadful 
trouble — we have an apartment that’s dark as 
night. Isn’t it dreadful ? ” 

Leah Churchill laughed. 

“ You seem to be real cozily situated,” she 
observed. “ New Yorkers don’t mind a little 
darkness.” 

Leah was a girl quite different in type from 
Faith, both in appearance and manner. She 
was of the imposing kind, a year or two older 
than her friend, and by no means so impul- 
sive. In fact, she was quite womanly. Faith 
was pretty in a girlish way ; Leah almost had 
the grace and beauty of a young matron. 
Her eyes were violet, her hair inclined to be 
golden, and her features classic. 

They were abreast of the dining-room now, 
and the old ladies rose to greet her. As sum- 


38 FAITH PALMER 

mer residents of the ocean town of Chester, 
the Churchills of course were well known to 
the Misses Palmer, who had lived at “The 
Oaks ” all their lives. Leah’s real home, how- 
ever, was in Boston. 

“ I am so delighted to see you here in New 
York,” she said, taking Miss Abigail’s hand 
first and then Miss Deborah’s. “ Faith told 
me during the summer that you expected to 
spend the winter here, but I didn’t know un- 
til this morning that you had really found an 
apartment. From what Faith says, I’m afraid 
you don’t like it. But you mustn’t mind, 
Miss Palmer ” — Leah turned toward Aunt 
Abigail — “ because you know that in a city 
one has to put up with inconveniences. I 
live with my married cousin while I’m study- 
ing in New York, and really, she and I are 
getting to be good sports. We call her little 
apartment our train of Pullman cars, because 
the rooms are all in a string, and so tiny.” 

“ Are they dark ? ” inquired Miss Abigail, 
meaningly. 


IN NEW YORK 


39 


Leah hesitated. 

“ No,” she admitted, after a moment ; “ no, 
they are not dark, because, you see, they are 
on the nineteenth floor.” 

The Misses Palmer gasped. 

“ Lord help you I ” said Miss Abigail. 

“ Oh, some of the very best apartments 
in New York are up in the clouds,” assured 
Leah, laughing. “ Unless you get on the 
outer side of a building you almost always 
find the lower-floor apartments dark. The 
higher you go, the lighter they are. IPs like 
going up out of a well. But a great many 
people don’t mind the dark. They get big 
electric lights and let it go at that. Why, it’s 
part of living in New York ! We can’t all 
have light. If I were you, I shouldn’t mind 
it one bit — only if you had let me help you I 
might have suited you better. Dear me ! why 
didn’t you let me hunt a light apartment 
for you ? There are plenty of them to be 
had.” 

“ I shall tell Elder Beaconsmith what I 


4 o FAITH PALMER 

think of him,” said Miss Abigail. “The 
Tookeys are his cousins or uncles or some- 
thing — I don’t care what. I shall tell him 

But, Deborah, give Miss Churchill a chair if 
she can get through. I shall hold the elder 
responsible for this.” 

The old lady cast her eyes about with 
mingled hauteur and despair. 

“I am so sorry you didn’t let me know,” 
repeated Leah. “ Then you might have had 
a light apartment instead of a dark one. But 
really, this is cute and pretty — and so tastily 
furnished ! ” 

“ Suppose,” spoke up Faith, suddenly, “ that 
we found a chance to sublet this place, or re- 
sublet it, or whatever you might call the act 
of getting rid of it — do you think you could 
help us find a nice light apartment now ? Do 
you think you could, Leah? ” 

“ Faith,” said Aunt Abigail, “ when we 
move again we will go back to Chester. I 
think we have had all the New York apart- 
ments we want.” 


IN NEW TORK 


4i 

Leah did not give any heed to this opinion 
on the old lady’s part. 

“ Of course we can,” she said, answering 
Faith’s question. “ Why, there are always 
light apartments to be had. Only — one must 
pay for them.” 

“ Oh, if you will only help me get one ! ” 
Faith was in ecstasy. 

“ I know of one now,” Leah answered. 
“ At least, I’ve heard about it — only after your 
experience here I shouldn’t want to recom- 
mend it until I investigate very carefully. 
One of the girls in my school is going to Cal- 
ifornia in October with her people, and they 
want to rent their apartment, furnished, for 
the winter. I’ve never seen it, but I under- 
stand it is quite high up. I’ll tell you, Faith : 
come with me to school to-day and at noon 
we’ll run up and see the suite. It’s on Morn- 
ingside Drive — -just a lovely site.” 

Faith looked at Aunt Abigail. It seemed a 
good deal to ask of the old lady — this proposal 
to move before they had been in New York a 


FAITH PALMER 


42 

day. But the situation was desperate and de- 
lay probably meant a quick retreat to Chester. 
Faith had spent many days and weeks arguing 
her aunts into closing “ The Oaks ” for the 
winter and taking this unfortunate Tookey 
apartment in New York. She did not want 
to go back, and she didn’t mean to go if she 
could help it. 

“ Auntie,” she said, “ I really think I’d bet- 
ter go.” 

“ I shall take no other apartment in New 
York,” said Aunt Abigail, with finality. 

0 But if it should be just the very thing we 
want,” said her young relative, demurely, 
“we’d dreadfully hate to lose it. Now just 
make yourselves as comfortable as possible in 
this old dark hole, and I’ll be back as soon 
after noon as I possibly can.” 

“ I do not think it safe for you to go about 
New York alone,” remarked Aunt Deborah. 

“ And certainly you will not engage any 
apartment ” Aunt Abigail began. 

“Of course not, auntie — I’ll just look at it. 


IN NEW YORK 43 

Now don’t get uneasy ; you know I’m not a 
little child, and I’ve been in New York before. 
Oh, I do hope we can get it 1 ” 

“I want no apartment ” Aunt Abi- 

gail did not finish, for Faith interrupted her 
with a good-by kiss. Then the two girls were 
gone. 


CHAPTER III 


THE ELEVENTH FLOOR 

When Faith returned, shortly after one 
o’clock, she was quite breathless from her 
haste and excitement. She threw off her coat 
and gave the wet umbrella to Ann. 

“ Auntie,” she said, “ it’s the most beautiful 
place in the whole world — I just know it is ! 
Why, the view is simply magnificent. I sup- 
pose one can see at least ten thousand roofs 
from the living-room windows ! ” 

“ Roofs ? ” inquired her aunts, together. 

“ Yes, roofs ! I never supposed roofs could 
make a beautiful landscape ; but they do, up 
there at Morningside Heights — they really do. 
You see, they are so far below, and they reach 
out ever and ever so far, toward the ocean, 
Leah said. And the apartment itself is just 
the dearest little place you ever saw. You’ll 
44 


IN NEW YORK 


45 

fall in love with it the very minute you open 
the door. It’s so light, for it’s on the eleventh 
floor, and ” 

“ Your Aunt Deborah and I never could 
get up there,” interrupted Miss Abigail. “ Oh, 
I know there are elevators ; but elevators are 
worse than climbing stairs. They shake your 
Aunt Deborah quite to pieces. Eleventh 
floor, indeed ! ” 

“ But these elevators on Morningside Drive 
positively do not shake ! ” cried Faith. 
“ There is not one single little shake to them, 
and I guess I know. Now, auntie, Fm going 
to describe the rooms to you.” 

“ You will waste your time ” 

“ First Fm going to get your slippers,” the 
girl said, soothingly. “ I believe you’ve been 
wearing your new shoes all the morning. 
Here they are — how lucky you put them in 
the satchel. How wonderfully easy it is to 
find things in an apartment ! ” 

The old lady submitted to the ministrations 
of her young relation, but while she was be- 


FAITH PALMER 


46 

ing duly slippered and petted she made it 
plain that she had determined to return to 
Chester just as soon as some arrangement 
could be made about the apartment under 
lease. And of course Deborah and Faith 
would go with her. She realized now the 
folly of coming to New York. Of all the aw- 
ful cities, it was the worst. She had always 
known this, to be sure; but she had never 
realized it as she did now. She had not sup- 
posed that even sinful, benighted people pre- 
ferred darkness all the time. The very archi- 
tects who built these black and tiny holes for 
folks to live in were indexes of the city's 
moral state. 

But Faith gave no great heed to these dia- 
tribes. She had learned that she had a most 
mysterious power over her Aunt Abigail. 
She well knew how to use that power. 

“ In the first place," she said, “ there are 
seven rooms — oh, so wonderfully light, all of 
them ! ” 

,Up to that very morning, daylight had been 


IN NEW YORK 


47 

quite an unappreciated gift to Faith Palmer. 
All her life she had reveled in it unrestrained. 
But of a sudden she had come to feel it a most 
wonderful blessing, to go into ecstasies over. 

“Oh, so light l” she went on, with an ex- 
pression in her face that was almost rapture. 
“ From the living-room, auntie, I am sure we 
can see the sun come up over those lovely 
roofs — if it ever does come up again ! 
Wouldn’t it seem strange, after living in this 
dungeon, to see the sun come up? Well, the 
dining-room is just as wonderful — just as 
light as day ! Then the kitchen — oh, I sup- 
pose it would be called a kitchenette, just like 
this one ; only it’s a daylight kitchenette, you 
know. But I think it is really a little big- 
ger, though perhaps it only seems so. 

“ There are four other rooms,” she went on, 
“ and every one of them is light. There are 
three of the lightest and cutest little bedrooms 
you ever saw, besides the maid’s room — and 
even that is light ! I’ll take the littlest 
room, of course — I can imagine I’m traveling 


48 FAITH PALMER 

on the overland train to California and have 
taken the whole section. Your room and 
Aunt Debby’s are real large and commodi- 
ous ” Faith laughed and winked at her 

Aunt Deborah. “ At any rate, they are so 
cozy ; and there is a pretty tiled bathroom be- 
tween them — just for you two. Aunt Debby 
can get into her room, oh, so easily, because 
the bed is a single one and the chiffonier and 
dressing-table are so nice and little. There is 
a comfy willow rocker in each of your rooms, 
with pretty bright cretonne cushions. I think 
there is a straight-backed chair in one of the 
bedrooms — I forget which. Only it can’t be 
in my room, for there isn’t any space. I have 
a dear little three-cornered stool to sit on.” 

“ Lunch is served, mum,” said Ann, at that 
moment, peering in and addressing Miss Abi- 
gail. She had assumed from the start that 
the elder aunt was the one in authority — in 
which assumption she was quite correct. Miss 
Deborah never had a great deal to say about 
domestic affairs, or financial affairs, or any- 


IN NEW YORK 


49 

thing else, her sister having always consti- 
tuted herself head of the house. 

The three of them sat down to their electric- 
lighted luncheon ; but now Faith was quite 
gay. She rattled on with the story of her 
discovery of this remarkable daylight apart- 
ment. But suddenly she remembered some- 
thing else : 

“ Oh, I forgot to say that I met the dearest 
girl this morning, and she lives right in that 
same apartment building up on Morningside 
Drive. Don’t you think that will be splen- 
did — having a friend in the same house with 
me ? It’s the funniest thing, too, because her 
name is Prudence. Imagine a Faith and a 
Prudence being friends ! Her full name is 
Prudence Lane, and she’s as pretty as the 
name itself. She is just my age, and I am 
sure I shall like her, though she’s a different 
sort of girl altogether. I mean that she has 
always lived in New York, and always in 
apartments of one sort and another. She 
thinks I am funny because I spoke to her.” 


FAITH PALMER 


5 ° 

“ Spoke to her?” inquired Aunt Abigail, 
as Ann brought in the dessert. 

“ Yes ; you see, we were coming down in the 
elevator and Prudence got in at the fifth floor, 
I think. Somehow, I don’t know why — 
only I suppose I was so happy that I couldn’t 
help it — I just said ‘Good-morning.’ Then 
she said * Good-morning,’ and we talked a 
little on the way down ; and finally I asked 
her if she lived there, and told her I hoped to 
live there myself. She looked at me so funny 
for a minute ; and of course I knew that people 
in New York were not supposed to speak to 
one another, except when somebody intro- 
duced them — and not always even then. 
Kathryn Love has often told me that, you 
know. So have other New York girls up at 
Fordyce Hall. But I don’t care ; we got ac- 
quainted and told each other our names, and 
I asked her to come to see me when we get 
settled on the eleventh floor.” 

“ I certainly do not approve of your mak- 
ing promiscuous acquaintances in New York,” 


IN NEW TORK 


5 1 

said Aunt Abigail, severely. “ Do you know 
who this Prudence Lane may be ? Iam very 
sorry you acted so unwisely as to ask her to 
our — our apartment.” 

The old lady hesitated over the last two 
words, because to say them was practically an 
admission that Faith had won her diplomatic 
campaign for the suite on Morningside Drive. 
And “ our apartment ” was not lost upon Miss 
Faith. There was a curious twinkle in her 
brown eyes, but she tried to look at her aunt 
gravely. 

“ I am sure that Prudence comes of a nice, 
refined family,” she answered. “ Her father 
has an office on Wall Street and her mother 
goes to a beautiful big church up there — I for- 
get its name — and Prudence is taking music 
and French at Somebody’s School on Morning- 
side Heights. I am sure she comes of good 
stock, as you say.” 

“In New York,” said the aunt, “ one can- 
not be certain even of persons descended from 
the best of stock. I am sorry you spoke to 


FAITH PALMER 


52 

this Prudence Lane. If she is not a proper 
associate for you I shall take matters into my 
own hands.” 

Then the old lady abruptly asked : 

“ What is the rental of the apartment you 
praise so highly ? ” 

Faith’s face slowly suffused with color and 
for a moment her eyes sought the floor. She 
scraped the rug under her chair with the toe 
of her shoe, and nervously fumbled a spoon. 

“ I am afraid you will think it dreadfully 
high,” she answered. “ But Leah says one 
must pay for things one likes in New York. 
Of course we might get an apartment very 
much cheaper, but not one we would like as 
I know we’ll like this one. Then you must 
yemembet that we are taking the apartment 
furnished, and that makes quite a difference. 
But it never would pay us to buy all the 
furniture or ship our own down from Chester 
— we couldn’t get many of our Chester pieces 
into the rooms at all. So, as Leah says, we 
might better pay the higher rental, since we 


IN NEW YORK 


53 

can afford it — and it’s only for a little while. 
If we expected to live in New York per- 
manently, it would be out of the question, I 
know. But don’t you think we can do it — 
such a beautiful daylight apartment with such 
a lovely view ? ” 

“ What is the rental ? ” repeated Aunt Abi- 
gail, frowning. 

“Two hundred and fifty dollars a month,” 
said Faith, with a little tinge of despair in 
her voice. 

Aunt Deborah extended her hands toward 
heaven in a gesture of complete dismay. 
Aunt Abigail sat stiff-backed, with face un- 
relaxed. 

“ Faith,” said the latter, “ it is only a little 
while since you secretly engaged yourself as a 
teacher at the McAllister School near Chester, 
at a salary of forty dollars a month, so that 
you might help with the family expenses, as 
you expressed it. And now you deliberately 
propose that we spend two hundred and fifty 
dollars a month for a mere roost on which to 


FAITH PALMER 


54 

live — a string of closets on the eleventh floor 
in this dreadful city ! ” 

“ I know it,” Faith confessed, with her eyes 
downcast. “ I feel just as guilty as can 
possibly be. But when I went to teaching, 
auntie, I supposed we were poor, you know, 
and I didn’t want to be a burden. I had lived 
with you such a little time, for my poor daddy 
had just gone away forever and I was a foolish 
little goose and didn’t know anything at all. 
I gave up the school when you told me that 
we had — oh, I don’t know how much money 
— and went to school myself, at Fordyce. 
And then you were so good and kind, and 
came down here to New York with me because 
I wanted so much to study here this winter — 
and I know what a dreadful sacrifice it was 
for you, both of you, to close up 4 The Oaks ’ 
and do it. It is frightfully hard to get used 
to New York ways — and New York prices. I 
just know that it’s wickedly extravagant to 
think of taking that apartment ; only I thought 
that since we really had the money to do it 


IN NEW YORK 


55 

with, if we wanted to, it would be better to 
have the daylight, you know " 

Faith paused and sighed heavily. 

“ But maybe it’s too much to pay even for 
daylight, auntie ; and if you think so 111 give 
it up and well stay right here where we are. 
These electric lights are horrid, but since 
you're doing it all for me, anyway, I can be 
happy over it. But I must write to Prudence 
and tell her how very sorry I am.” 

There was a minute's silence, during which 
the old aunts regarded one another, and alter- 
nately looked at the downcast face of the girl. 
To both of them Faith was the whole world 
itself. 

“ How long before the apartment will be 
available ? " inquired Miss Abigail, at length. 

Faith looked up quickly, a smile flashing 
on her lips. 

“ About the middle of October," she said. 
“ We could get along here somehow for three 
weeks, couldn't we?" 


CHAPTER IV 


NEW YORK FENCES 

It was along about the first of November, 
and the Palmers, together with the servant 
Ann, had been comfortably settled fora couple 
of weeks on the eleventh floor of the apart- 
ment-house on Morningside Drive. The other 
apartment on Seventy-ninth Street had a new 
tenant, for the Palmers had no trouble sublet- 
ting it, dark as it was. Many people in New 
York take dark apartments for granted. 

Faith was now duly enrolled at the Morning- 
side School of Domestic Arts. To Faith, the 
school was a most delightful place, and she en- 
tered into its activities eagerly. Its quarters 
were an old-style mansion of twenty rooms, 
once in a fashionable neighborhood but now 
wholly surrounded by stores and other busi- 
ness buildings. All the household arts were 
56 


IN NEW TORK 


57 

taught there, even to the making of beds. 
Nor was the course intended for rich girls, but 
for girls who really expected to do household 
work, or, at least, supervise it. Faith was one 
who intended to do more than “ look after 
things ” at home. Despite the fact that they 
had ample means, the Palmers were the kind 
who lived with extreme simplicity, got along 
with one servant, and had no “ airs.” 

Still, Faith had a premonition that some 
time things might be somewhat different. 
Old-fashioned ways could not last forever, and 
the day might come when a knowledge of 
modern housekeeping would be indispensable 
to her. She was sensible enough to know 
that the ways of her two old grandaunts would 
not suffice, and she was resolved to make the 
most of this wonderful opportunity to study 
housekeeping in New York. It scarcely 
seemed possible that she had really prevailed 
on her aunts to come. 

Faith, of course, had had half a year in do- 
mestic arts up at Fordyce Hall, but the work 


FAITH PALMER 


58 

there was more theoretical than practical. It 
gave her advanced credits, however, and now 
she meant to get, in one winter, the better 
part of the course at the Morningside School 
of Domestic Arts. 

This was a pretty big undertaking, however. 
Her studies included cookery, the science of 
food properties, serving, housekeeping, phys- 
iology, home nursing, and home manage- 
ment. And then if she had any time left she 
meant to go even farther and take house fur- 
nishing and decoration. Incidentally, she 
might devote some fragments of time to sew- 
ing and millinery. 

Many of the students at the school lived 
there, in a new dormitory wing that had been 
added, and Faith almost wished at times that 
she might be a boarding pupil. But she 
shouldn’t have come to New York at all if she 
hadn’t been able to induce her aunts to come 
too. They were old and feeble, and they 
needed her. She would not leave them alone 
again at Chester — not even for the sake of an 


IN NEW TORK 


59 

education. What they needed most of all was 
a capable, trained housekeeper to care for the 
Chester home and for them. 

This was Faith’s big motive in coming down 
to the metropolis and studying at the most 
practical school she could find. It wasn’t the 
school Leah Churchill attended, for Leah was 
far advanced in many ways, and was taking 
intricate designing and such things that Faith 
didn’t want. She had made up her mind to 
eliminate everything that wasn’t immediately 
practical. Perhaps in the future she might be 
able to take up “ art things,” as she called 
them. But just now there was more need at 
the Palmer home for somebody who under- 
stood the fine art of laundry management. 
Old Angeline, the antiquated servant at Ches- 
ter, had been just fair at this sort of thing in 
her own old-fashioned way ; but of course 
that wasn’t saying much. And now even 
Angeline wasn’t available, for she had broken 
down and gone away to her relatives. 

The school, of course, interested Faith first. 


6o 


FAITH PALMER 


Bat the wonder of living in New York was 
still strong upon her. New York was still a 
strange enigma. She was living in the me- 
tropolis, and was a part of its feverish activi- 
ties ; yet except for the occasional calls of 
Leah Churchill, who was really a transient in 
the city like themselves, Faith and her aunts 
were absolutely alone. No one had called on 
them — not even Miss Prudence Lane. Not a 
soul had come to see them while they stayed 
in that first dark apartment on Seventy-ninth 
Street, and not a single New York woman 
had deigned to notice them up here in this 
really beautiful place on lofty Morningside 
Heights. 

Faith felt hurt and a little indignant. 

“ You needn’t have worried your head over 
Prudence,” she observed one day to her Aunt 
Abigail. “ Probably I was a little reckless in 
‘ picking her up ’ as an acquaintance ; but it’s 
quite clear that she doesn’t mean to stay 
picked. Oh, she speaks when I meet her ; 
but that isn’t the kind of friend I want. Per- 


IN NEW TORK 6 1 

haps she was well named, after all, auntie, for 
certainly she is prudent enough about getting 
acquainted. She’s a little suspicious of the 
Palmers, maybe — or, most likely, it’s just be- 
cause she’s a thorough New York girl and 
doesn’t care for neighbors. That’s what Leah 
says. Why, I doubt if there are ten families 
in this building that know the families who 
live in the apartments adjoining them. Well, 
if Prudence doesn’t care to be friendly, I’m 
sorry ; but I’ll not lay it up against her. She 
has her way of looking at things, and I have 
mine. I don’t suppose we ought to expect 
neighbors in New York.” 

There were some fifty families in the build- 
ing. On the eleventh floor resided three 
other households, in close proximity to the 
Palmers, yet strangers. Nearest them, in the 
apartment immediately across the hall, lived 
an elderly couple with their married daughter 
and the latter’s son, a youth of twenty with a 
tiny mustache just showing. Through scraps 
of conversation she chanced to hear, Faith 


62 


FAITH PALMER 


knew his name to be Archie, and that he was 
a student at Columbia University, a few blocks 
away. But neither Archie nor the other 
members of his family gave the slightest ap- 
parent heed to the Palmers — except that 
Archie took his hat off in the elevator when 
Faith was in it. She wanted desperately to 
ask him to be careful of his mustache, because 
he kept pulling it so persistently. 

Another family on the eleventh floor com- 
prised a very lordly group — father, mother, 
and five grown daughters. The latter over- 
dressed tremendously, Faith thought, and 
over-scented themselves with perfumery, and 
over-talked. But none of them ever seemed 
to see Faith. The youngest girl was Maud. 
She quarreled habitually with her sisters, and 
Faith felt no inclination toward making her 
acquaintance. 

The fourth tenant on this floor was a 
grouchy man named Duffy and his grouchy 
wife. Faith never heard them speak to one 
another except in monosyllables, as she en- 


IN NEW TORK 63 

countered them in corridor or elevator ; and 
Mr. Duffy smoked regardless of the presence 
of ladies. 

It seemed odd to Faith that not one of these 
persons had taken the trouble to say a word 
of welcome when the Palmers moved in, or 
had ever inquired after the health of the two old 
ladies, or asked if one could be of any service 
to Faith in her rather heavy responsibility of 
caring for such feeble and aged relatives. But 
this was New York, so why should she expect it? 

With the floors below, Faith was not so well 
acquainted. She saw many people, but got 
mere fleeting glimpses. There were men who 
wore silk hats and swallow-tails sometimes, 
after six o'clock, and women in ornate gowns. 
There were pert little girls and rather foppish 
boys, she thought ; and there was one family 
with a dear baby she wanted to get in her 
arms, but didn't dare. Just one baby among 
them all ! She understood that children un- 
der two years were not permitted in this build- 
ing, but this baby had come and the parents 


64 FAITH PALMER 

had refused to move. They were fighting it 
in the courts, somebody said. What a ridicu- 
lous place New York was ! 

Down in the basement, tiled and marbled 
and a blaze of electric lights, was a cafe where 
the tenants could take their meals if they 
chose. Faith and her aunts had not eaten 
there. Aunt Abigail said they could get 
their own meals at home. It was enough to 
pay two hundred and fifty dollars a month 
for their suite. They would all be paupers if 
they lived at that rate, she declared. Be- 
sides, she and Aunt Deborah were afraid of 
the elevator. 

Going down in this copper-ornamented 
elevator one day, Faith encountered Prudence 
Lane, who got on at the fifth floor, accom- 
panied by a very stately lady in a sealskin 
coat. Prudence had always been politely 
cordial with Faith, even if she hadn’t called ; 
but now she seemed really stiff. 

“ Miss Palmer,” she said, “ let me introduce 
my mother.” 


IN NEW YORK 65 

The stately lady looked at Faith for just a 
second, and there was a bare suggestion of a 
bow. Then she looked away again, and said 
nothing. Faith colored, and Prudence looked 
uncomfortable. Then the elevator reached 
the bottom and the door slid open, to Faith’s 
relief. 

The next moment, however, her heart 
jumped with sudden anger, for, as Prudence 
and her mother moved away, Faith caught a 
fragmentary sentence. The stately lady had 
said something to Prudence about “ the two 
old women with frayed clothes.” Could she 
be referring to anybody except Aunt Abigail 
and Aunt Deborah — the two dearest old ladies 
in all the world ? True enough, they were 
not up to date in their apparel ; but Faith 
would not have exchanged them for all the 
gaudily gowned women in New York. 

She was very unhappy that night, and very 
lonely. She had always had so many friends 
of her own age, and now she had not a single 
one. Of course she was getting acquainted 


66 


FAITH PALMER 


with a good many girls at the Morningside 
School of Domestic Arts, but none of the day 
pupils happened to live anywhere near Morn- 
ingside Drive. Some were up in the Bronx, 
some in Brooklyn, some even over in New 
Jersey. All the girls she really liked lived 
in impossible places. Leah Churchill had so 
much night work at home that she found it 
hard to come ; and, besides, girls were not 
supposed to go about alone much at night. 

Disappointing, and bitter, too, was this affair 
with Prudence Lane. She did like Prudence 
— she couldn’t help it. Prudence was a fair, 
clear-skinned girl, with blue eyes and curly 
hair, and a face that Faith thought almost 
soulful at times. There was something about 
Prudence that puzzled Faith. Once or twice 
she had seen her with eyes suspiciously red. 
But, since Prudence hadn’t called or invited 
Faith to call, there had been no chance for 
any confidences — and of course Prudence 
didn’t want any, Faith assured herself. Then 
she remembered the formal stiffness of the 


IN NEW YORK 67 

girl in the elevator that day, and the words 
she had overheard just afterward. Faith’s 
indignation got the better of her and she 
related the incident in part to Aunt Abigail, 
omitting the reference to the frayed clothes. 

Aunt Abigail could be the incarnation of 
haughty dignity when she chose. With her, 
it was an unforgivable offense to slight the 
Palmer name. And, in reality, the Palmers 
did come from distinguished Colonial and 
Revolutionary stock — stock as proud as any 
in the country. 

“ The New York hussies ! ” she exclaimed, 
thus characterizing Mrs. Lane and her 
daughter. “ In future, Faith, have nothing 
whatever to do with them. I have always 
been sorry that you spoke to this * nobody ’ 
girl and sought her acquaintance. You are 
rash in such matters ; but perhaps this will be 
a lesson to you.” 

But somehow Faith could not feel much 
resentment toward Prudence. She was such 
a mild-mannered girl, Prudence was, and so 


68 


FAITH PALMER 


pretty and — and just a little sad. Faith was 
sure the exclusiveness wasn’t her fault ; she had 
simply been brought up that way. It was the 
fault of New York, where people were proud 
and puffed up with imaginary importance. 
They put a false value on clothes and display 
and all that sort of thing. Faith was glad 
that such “ vanities,” as Aunt Abigail called 
them, did not have much place back in 
Chester. Except among the summer colony 
of Boston folks, the little city was almost as 
plain as a country town, and no one thought 
an iota less of the Misses Palmer because their 
dresses were out of style. Indeed, how would 
the two old ladies look arrayed in the fashion 
of pompous New York ? Faith laughed when 
she thought of it. 

The fifth floor, where the Lane apartment 
was located, was one of the expensive parts of 
the building. Ann told Faith this ; Ann had 
heard it from some of the other servants in 
the apartment-house. The rental of the Lane 
suite of nine rooms was three hundred dollars 


IN NEW TORK 69 

a month, without any furnishings. And ac- 
cording to Ann’s information Mr. Lane had 
furnished it very expensively. The drawing- 
room was distinctly colonial — Faith judged 
from the reports Anil brought her, though of 
course Ann didn’t know colonial from rustic. 
There were beautiful tapestries, and oil por- 
traits, and a wonderful colonial silver service. 
With all this, the Lanes were very exclusive. 
They had nothing to do with anybody in the 
building ; but occasionally they entertained 
outsiders, with down-town caterers, flowers and 
a great deal of fuss. 

“ They make big swell I ” said Ann. 

“ I wonder if they are really better than 
anybody else,” sighed Faith. “ Of course if I 
had known how grand and mighty they were 
I shouldn’t have tried to get acquainted with 
Prudence. I suppose her mother thinks I did 
it because I wanted to force myself into their 
set. Well, my own set suits me well enough ; 
only the trouble is that here in New York I 
haven’t any set.” 


7 ° 


FAITH PALMER 


“ You be get some set after while/ 7 condoled 
Ann. Her English was rather amazing, but 
her comprehension was better. 

“ Well, I don’t just see where I am going to 
get it, Ann. All of New York seems to be 
divided up into little frigid zones, with high 
fences separating them. But there aren’t any 
really fences ; there aren’t even any yards in 
New York — at least, not the sort where neigh- 
bors can get acquainted over the fences, talk- 
ing about the flowers and chickens and cher- 
ries, you know. Did you ever live in the 
country, Ann ? ” 

The maid’s eyes grew suddenly bright and 
her expansive face beamed. 

“ Before I come America 1 ” she exclaimed. 
“ Oh, yes, 1 live on farm for many whiles ! ” 

“ Then you know how glorious it is. Of 
course I never lived in Europe ; I’ve never 
even been there, but I suppose they have 
fences — don’t they, Ann ? ” 

“ They be do,” assured the maid. 

“ And they have neighbors — people who 


IN NEW YORK 


7i 

care something for each other, and don’t care 
if one’s clothes are a bit out of style, and — and 
aren’t always thinking how much better they 
are?” 

“ Yes,” laughed the maid ; “ nobody better ; 
anyhow, nobody be better where I live.” 

Then she grew suddenly sober, as the recol- 
lection of her own far-away home came back 
to her — the home she might never see again. 

“ Everybody live on ground,” she added ; 
“ not up in sky. No sky-houses. Can’t have 
fences where people sleep an’ eat an’ stay in 
sky.” 

She looked out of the kitchenette window, 
which opened on a court. The Palmer apart- 
ment was on the top floor, and that was what 
made it so light. Only two of the rooms, the 
dining-room and living-room, faced in the 
direction of Morningside Drive, eleven stories 
below. The kitchenette window had for a 
view only the opposite brick wall of the other 
wing of the court, together with the window 
of the corresponding kitchenette of another 


FAITH PALMER 


72 

apartment. Below lay a dizzy reach of brick, 
punctured with tier upon tier of kitchenette 
windows, down into the abysmal regions at 
the bottom. Here, at the base of the wall, 
was the cemented space designated as the 
“ court,” which was the nearest approach to a 
yard the building could boast. But nobody 
ever went into this yard except the janitors 
and the men who collected the ashes. The 
children never played there — indeed, they 
were expressly forbidden to set foot there. 
They played in the street or on the steep slope 
of Morningside Park on the other side of the 
stone coping that bordered Morningside Drive. 
True, they were favored far beyond the lot of 
most New York children, who hadn’t any 
park to play in. This, indeed, was a very 
beautiful part of New York, and very wonder- 
ful, and very expensive. Butin Faith’s frame 
of mind at the moment all its beauty and 
wonder did not atone for her loneliness. 

“ Can’t have fences up in sky,” repeated 
Ann, still gazing at the wall opposite. 


IN NEW YORK 


73 

“ Not the right kind of fences/’ sighed 
Faith, as she stood there with the maid, look- 
ing out absently. “ The New York fences are 
all imaginary, like the one Prudence’s mother 
has built. Oh, Ann, I do like New York ; 
yet I don’t like it. I’m happy ; yet I’m 
wretched. But I’m going to try to forget the 
things I don’t like — only I should love to 
know some girls who haven’t any of these 
New York fences at all ! The only New York 
girl I really know is Kathryn Love, and she 
is up in school at Fordyce Hall, where I was 
last year. But even if she were home, I sup- 
pose she has plenty of fences — though I don’t 
believe she would have any with me. Her 
people put on a good deal of style, and all 
that ; but Kathryn knows all about my aunts 
and their ways, and she doesn’t lay it up 
against them, or against me, because they 
dress in such old-fashioned clothes and wear 
their things such a dreadfully long time. 
Neither does Betty Fairchild ! She’s a Boston 
girl, you know, who lives at Chester in the 


FAITH PALMER 


74 

summer. She's at Fordyce, too. Betty and 
her people came from Chester originally, and 
they’ve known my aunts all their lives. Oh, 
I do wish Betty and Kathryn were in New 
York now ! ” 

Then Faith turned away from the window 
abruptly. 

“ Ann,” she said, changing the subject, 
“ how many kinds of cake do you think we 
ought to have for my house-party ? You 
know it’s only two weeks before the girls will 
be here.” 

“ Two kinds be ’nough,” was Ann’s opinion. 

“ I was thinking of having three ; but per- 
haps two would be in better taste — only they 
must be wonderfully good. And I’m going 
to begin practicing on them Saturday — be- 
cause I want everything just the most de- 
licious you ever tasted, Ann. I’m going to 
practice on the salads, too. And I hope you 
will make the bread just a little lighter, Ann. 
Do you think you can do it? ” 

“ I be do,” acquiesced Ann. 


CHAPTER V 


THINGS TO EAT 

Aunt Abigail had a haughty contempt for 
the theater, where men and women made 
monkeys of themselves, as she said. She was 
somewhat more tolerant of the opera, how- 
ever, although it had been thirty years since 
she had heard one. Once, when a young 
woman, she had heard Jenny Lind sing at 
the Battery in New York, and that night 
stood out in her memory. Therefore Faith — 
who wielded a mystic power over both grand- 
aunts — had no great difficulty in persuading 
Aunt Abigail and Aunt Deborah to take her 
to the Metropolitan Opera House to hear some 
of the great voices. 

They heard “ Faust ” at a Saturday matinSe, 
and for three hours Faith was in a magnificent 
dream, swayed by the music of Gounod’s opera 
75 


FAITH PALMER 


76 

and fascinated by Goethe’s Mephistopheles. 
But at last it was over, and, out among the 
crowds of Broadway, the realities of life came 
back. And those realities dealt with such 
commonplaces as dinner. 

“ Up there in the opera house,” observed 
Faith, “ it didn’t seem as if I should ever 
want to eat again ; it didn’t seem as if there 
could ever be anything in the world any more 
except singing and dreaming and floating 
along on golden clouds, with the world un- 
derneath. But now I believe I am actually 
getting hungry — and as this happens to be 
Ann’s afternoon out, don’t you think, auntie, 
it would be great fun to have our dinner be- 
fore we go home ? ” 

Aunt Abigail looked dubious. 

“ I think,” she returned, “ that we have 
spent money enough for one day. No doubt 
we have had our money’s worth, Faith, but 

fifteen dollars for seats at the opera ” 

“ I know ! ” said Faith. “ Doesn’t it seem 
dreadful to spend money like that ! But here 


IN NEW TORE 


77 

in New York people do it, and keep on doing 
it — or how could they keep the operas going ? 
But it was beautiful, wasn’t it? It was just 
glorious, and I’m sure we couldn’t have had 
any more pleasure out of fifteen dollars. But 
eating is different. We’ve got to eat, any- 
way.” 

“ We do not have to eat the expensive 
things they probably have in these New York 
restaurants,” retorted Aunt Abigail, as the 
three of them stood for a minute on the side- 
walk, discussing the matter. “ We can go 
home and get our own dinner very easily. A 
young lady who is studying domestic arts 
should not be dismayed at the prospect of get- 
ting dinner.” 

Faith laughed lightly. 

“ It would take more than that to dismay 
me, auntie. But that isn’t the idea. I really 
want to see that charming restaurant up on 
Broadway — the one Leah was speaking of the 
other night. And don’t you think, auntie, 
that part of my education here in New York 


FAITH PALMER 


78 

is the seeing of some of these places — just a 
few of them, of course — and the acquiring of 
knowledge in general about things and people 
in this great big city ? If I am to uphold the 
Palmer station ” 

“ Where is this restaurant ? ” inquired Aunt 
Abigail. 

“ I have the address here in my hand-bag,” 
Faith confessed, coloring a little. “ You see, 
auntie, I thought perhaps we might need it 
to-night.” 

“ I see,” said Miss Abigail, with a suspicion 
of sarcasm. “ You were quite thoughtful. I 
have no doubt it is a restaurant where the 
prices are extremely high. Child, I fear you 
are losing all sense of money values. New 
York ” 

“ I’m so sorry you think so badly of me,” 
pleaded Faith. “ I do know what money is 
worth, and we’ll go straight over to the sub- 
way this minute and go home. We’ll stop at 
the butcher’s at One Hundred and Twentieth 
Street and get some lamb-chops ” 


IN NEW TORK 


79 

“Abigail,” interrupted Aunt Deborah, in 
her usual subdued, questioning manner, “ if 
we are to have lamb-chops, don’t you think 
we might get them at a restaurant almost as 
cheaply as we could by cooking them at 
home? Lamb-chops are high, Abigail, and 
our gas bills have been so exorbitant.” 

“ I do not intend to eat lamb-chops ! ” as- 
serted Miss Abigail, decisively. “ Lamb-chops 
are the highest priced of all our meats, and if 
they are high at home they will be high in a 
restaurant. If I am to eat in a restaurant, I 
shall content myself with a moderate meal.” 

Faith knew something about New York 
prices already, for not only had she assumed 
the task of buying for the Palmer household, 
but at the School of Domestic Arts she was 
getting real experience in the buying class. 
It was the practice to take out groups of girls 
and let them do the actual purchasing of sup- 
plies, under the supervision of an instructor. 
The girls were given the right to draw checks 
on the “ school bank ” for certain specified 


8o 


FAITH PALMER 


sums, beyond which they could not go. They 
were required to keep their purchases within 
these limits. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” said Faith. “ I wish I knew 
even as much about ordering at a restaurant 
as I know about buying things at a grocery 
store or market. There is one thing that has 
been neglected up at school — what to get and 
how to behave at a restaurant. I think I 
ought to suggest a course in such things — 
don’t you think so, auntie? But I’m sure we 
might get a sirloin steak without paying very 
terrible prices.” 

“ With baked potatoes,” added Aunt Deb- 
orah. “ I am sure, Abigail, that we can afford 
a steak and baked potatoes and tea at any 
restaurant, even in New York.” 

“ Yes,” said Faith, brightly ; “ potatoes are 
cheap, and I know how to pick out good ones. 
Only,” she added, on an afterthought, “ I 
don’t suppose I’ll have any chance to do the 
picking out at the restaurant. But Aunt Deb- 
orah’s formula sounds just delicious — sirloin 


IN NEW YORK 


81 


steak, baked potatoes, and tea I Yum — won’t 
it be good ! Watch me cut a little square hole 
in my potato and fill it up with butter — then 
let it stand for two minutes, if the potato is 
real hot and mealy — and serve with salt and 
pepper as required. That’s our school recipe, 
and that’s just what I’m going to do to-night 
with my baked potato.” 

Perhaps the psychological effect of this 
speech was not lost even on Aunt Abigail. 
Baked potatoes had always been one of her 
weak points. There was too much “ style ” 
about “ French fried ” or “ hashed brown,” 
but every-day hot baked potatoes — well, they 
pleased her. Faith knew it very well, and 
Faith was a diplomatist. 

“ A fine big baked potato, with a hole in it 
full of butter ! ” she repeated. “ Think of it, 
auntie ! ” 

Apparently, Aunt Abigail did think of it. 
She gazed for a moment into space. 

“ Where is the restaurant ? ” she inquired 
again, with a rather grim look on her lips. 


82 


FAITH PALMER 


Faith got a slip of paper from her hand-bag. 

“ It’s only a few blocks up Broadway, auntie. 
Oh, I’m so glad we can go ! I know we’ve 
been spending just an awful lot of money. 
But then you know we’ll be going back to 
c The Oaks ’ some day, where we can’t spend 
so much ” 

“ We find it possible to spend quite enough 
at 1 The Oaks,’ ” observed Miss Abigail. 

“ Yes, I know ; but nothing like what we 
have to spend here in New York — not one- 
tenth part of it, I imagine. But then I know 
so little about money. Auntie, if I am to 
learn how to manage things, don’t you think 
you ought to teach me these — these financial 
things? I am just a regular goose about in- 
terest and coupons and bonds and things of 
that kind. I haven’t any idea in the world 
how much money you and Aunt Deborah 
get, or how you get it — only I know that you 
buy me every single thing I want ! There 
must be a great deal of money, for I want 
so many, many things; and I know I am 


IN NEW YORK 


83 

dreadfully selfish. But really and truly, I 
don't think that a sirloin steak and baked 
potatoes could cost such a terrible lot of money 
— do you ? " 

“ In New York," said Aunt Abigail, “ there 
is no proportion between the value of things 
and the cost. In Chester one can get a steak, 
vegetables, tea or coffee, and dessert for 
twenty-five cents. Here I have no doubt it 
will cost us seventy-five cents apiece." 

“ I’m afraid we’d really better go along 
home," suggested Faith. 

“ No," said Aunt Abigail ; “ now that we 
have set out to do it, we will dine at the res- 
taurant. I do not object, Faith, to the mere 
spending of the money. We can afford it. 
But to be a spendthrift, just because one has 
money, is sinful, and I do not wish you to ac- 
quire the wasteful and harmful habits of these 
New Yorkers about us." 

“ I’m sure I shall never do that," sighed 
Faith. 

They found the restaurant, though at first, 


FAITH PALMER 


84 

when they looked through the door, they were 
sure they had mistaken the place. It didn't 
look like a restaurant at all. There was a 
large reception-hall, with red-velvet chairs, 
palms, marble busts, and elaborate electric 
chandeliers* 

A colored man in livery opened the door 
for them, however, and they went in. An- 
other man took their wraps, and a third led 
them down a richly-carpeted corridor into the 
eating-hall. This was a grand and dazzling 
room, with an elaborate mosaic floor, marble 
wainscoting and pillars, and, at one end, a dais 
for an orchestra. It was not yet six o'clock, 
and the musicians had not arrived. Neither 
had many guests. The great room was al- 
most empty, save for waiters. 

An officious man in a low-cut waistcoat 
showed them to a small table, placed a menu 
before Aunt Abigail, and said that a waiter 
would serve them promptly. 

“ You may say to him,” returned the old 
lady, with something like a patronizing air, 



( ( 


9 9 


PLEASE LET ME SEE THE BILL OF FARE 




IN NEW TORK 85 

“ that we desire merely a sirloin steak for 
three, with baked potatoes and tea.” 

“ Yes, madam,” said he, very politely. 

“ Auntie,” said Faith, when the man had 
gone, “ please let me see the bill of fare. Dear 
me ; how can they ever get so many things 
cooked ? Why, there are three or four times 
as many things as they have on a dining-car ! 
What a wonderful meal it would be, auntie, if 
one could have everything there is on this 
menu ! Do you suppose any one ever did have 
such a meal ? ” 

Faith laughed aloud at the thought. 

“ I do not wish to see what is on this card- 
board,” returned Miss Abigail. “ To me, such 
a list of food suggests gluttony.” 

“ We shall be content with our beefsteak 
and potatoes,” observed Miss Deborah, with a 
smile. 

“ Of course,” agreed Faith. “ 1 don’t want 
a single thing else on this bill — not even ice- 
cream ! But I’m sure it doesn’t do any harm 
to read it. It’s really bewildering. Do you 


86 


FAITH PALMER 


suppose I shall ever learn to cook half the 
things that are shown here? Our cooking 
teachers up at school ” 

Faith stopped rather abruptly. A sudden 
seriousness overtook her. For a minute she 
perused the menu card in silence, with con- 
tracted brow. 

“ Auntie,” she remarked, after a moment, 
" I — I'm afraid the prices are — are dreadful ! ” 

“ I had fully expected it,” assented Miss 
Abigail. 

“ But they are more dreadful than you ex- 
pected, auntie ! ” Faith’s tones seemed a bit 
weak. 

Aunt Abigail’s lips assumed a more hori- 
zontal line. 

“ My glasses are in my pocket,” she said, 
“ and it is inconvenient to get them out. 
What — what is the price given for sirloin 
steak and baked potatoes ? ” 

Faith did not answer for a minute, but stud- 
ied the card in perplexity. Then she said, 
very slowly : 


IN NEW YORK 87 

“ I am sure this cannot be what he is to 
bring us. Oh, I wonder if it can be ” 

“ What is the price? ” demanded Aunt Abi- 
gail, firmly. 

“ Well,’’ said Faith, hesitatingly, “ there are 
different prices given for beefsteak ; but ‘ ex- 
tra sirloin for three 7 is — is four dollars and a 
half ! ” 

Both the old ladies straightened their backs 
suddenly. 

“Four dollars and a half I” they said, in 
unison. 

“ But really, I’m sure that can’t be what we 
are getting ! It would be so ridiculous ! ” 

Aunt Abigail felt for her pocket, and, after 
a considerable search, produced her spectacle 
case and took out her heavy-rimmed gold 
glasses. Aunt Deborah, meanwhile, sat look- 
ing first at her sister and then at Faith. 

“ Let me have that thing ! ” said Miss Abi- 
gail. 

Faith passed it over, and put her forefinger 
on the place. For a minute or two the old 


88 


FAITH PALMER 


lady could make nothing of it, but, assisted by 
the sharper eyes and quicker perception of her 
grandniece, she located the “ extra sirloin for 
three ” at $4.50. 

“And where does it say anything about 
baked potatoes? ” she inquired presently, in a 
stern tone. 

Faith took the menu card, with the color 
slowly rising in her cheeks. 

“ Baked potatoes/’ she informed them, af- 
ter a distressing investigation, “ are thirty 
cents. But that isn’t — isn’t so dreadfully bad, 
is it?” 

“ Thirty cents for each potato? ” asked Miss 
Abigail, icily. 

“ I — I don’t know,” the girl acknowledged. 
“ I suppose that thirty cents is the price for 
each person.” 

“ Which will be ninety cents for the three 
of us.” The old lady was quick enough with 
her mathematics. “ Suppose you see what 
they charge for tea.” 

“ Twenty cents — a cup,” said Faith. 


IN NEW TORK 89 

There was a little silence. Then Aunt Abi- 
gail announced the result of her mental prob- 
lem : 

“ Six dollars. Six dollars, Deborah.” 

There was another silence. 

“ It's perfectly dreadful ! ” Faith declared. 
“ I’m so sorry I proposed coming here, auntie ! 
I ought to have known better — but Leah 
didn’t tell me about these horrible prices. Oh, 
I’m so sorry ! ” 

Miss Abigail slowly put away her glasses, 
Miss Deborah watching her in a sort of dazed 
way. Both of them had been learning things 
about the metropolis, and almost every new 
thing they learned was an added shock. Ever 
since they had been in New York the stand- 
ards of their peaceful, simple life had been 
outraged. It wasn’t that a mere item of six 
dollars overwhelmed them, but that six dol- 
lars should be charged for so simple a meal 
was quite incredible at the moment. 

But the elder aunt, while being shocked at 
the things she found in New York, had been 


FAITH PALMER 


90 

acquiring, old as she was, the habit of adjust- 
ing herself to New York. It was even more 
sinful, more flamboyant, more wickedly waste- 
ful than she had imagined ; but she was a 
proud old lady, nevertheless, and by no means 
a stingy one. She had been accepting sur- 
prises, and she accepted this one without 
marked outward emotion. 

“ It is quite in keeping,” she said — and re- 
laxed into a grim silence that lasted until the 
waiter appeared with a great tray balanced on 
one hand. 

When Faith saw the sirloin steak, she gave 
a little gasp of fresh amazement. It was an 
inch thick, and covered a huge platter. Then 
there were three potatoes, each as big as a 
man’s two fists put together. The tea came 
in a large silver pot. 

The waiter cut the steak for them, placed 
their napkins, brought them bread and butter, 
and water half filled with ice, and hovered 
around with his little attentions until Aunt 
Abigail told him that he need not trouble 


IN NEW YORK 


9 1 

himself any further. When he had retired 
for the moment, she observed, coldly : 

“ It is very evident that we have been mis- 
taken for New Yorkers. Only New Yorkers 
would want such a monstrous beefsteak.” 

Faith did not reply to this observation of 
her aunt’s, for just then her attention was 
drawn to some persons whom the head waiter 
was ushering down the aisle in their direction. 

“Auntie,” said Faith, “ here come some of 
our neighbors.'* 


CHAPTER VI 


THE UNNEIGHBORLY NEIGHBORS 

These neighbors were Prudence Lane and 
her father and mother. 

By this time the dinner hour was more 
advanced and the restaurant was well filled. 
Most of the tables near the one occupied 
by the Palmer family were taken, but there 
was one that was empty perhaps thirty feet 
away. At this the Lanes were seated. 

Faith thought at first that the newcomers 
had not seen her or her aunts, for they took 
their places without any sign of recognition. 
When she was seated, Prudence’s back was 
toward Faith, while Mr. and Mrs. Lane were 
placed so that their profiles were presented, as 
they sat facing each other. They were a fine- 
looking couple, in early middle age, and they 

were dressed in a rather distinguished manner 
92 


IN NEW TORK 


93 

— Mrs. Lane in a semi-evening gown and her 
husband in a tuxedo suit. Prudence herself 
wore a dress much more elaborate than the 
one Faith had on. 

“ I suppose they are going to the theater,” 
said Faith, in an undertone, to her aunts. 
“ Their maid told Ann that they go so much, 
and often dine at the restaurants before 
going, and then have a sort of supper some- 
where afterward, and don’t get home until 
very late. Prudence doesn’t always go with 
them.” 

“ Since the Lanes are people who snub you,” 
said Aunt Abigail, “ I should not concern 
myself over them, if I were you. Whether 
they get home at all need not interest us.” 

“ No,” agreed Faith, rather despondently, 
“ I suppose not. They don’t concern them- 
selves over their neighbors. But I can’t help 
admiring Prudence, even if they do not mix 
with people. Don’t you think she is lovely 
to-night? She is so delicate and pink and 
dainty in that dress — and she’s pink and 


FAITH PALMER 


94 

dainty anyway. I’m sure I could just love 
her if I had the chance/’ 

“The Palmers never run after anybody,” 
retorted Aunt Abigail, as she sat stiff-backed, 
and cut her steak. “ The mighty airs of these 
New York 1 nobodies ’ are most silly. Their 
display is quite shameless.” 

She cast her eyes disapprovingly about the 
animated scenes in the big dining-hall, where 
evening clothes now predominated. The 
orchestra was playing, and, between the strains 
of music, laughter and conversation reached 
them. 

“ But of course they look at things differ- 
ently,” Faith suggested. “ Oh, I don’t mean 
to say that it isn’t foolish and frivolous and 
wasteful to put on so many airs that one can’t 
speak to one’s neighbors. How silly that 
does seem ! But perhaps they can’t help it ! ” 

Aunt Abigail’s lips took a sudden down- 
ward curve. 

“ At any rate, I don’t believe Prudence can 
help it,” Faith added. “ Do you think it 


IN NEW TORK 


95 

would be dreadfully out of place if I were 
to run over there and speak to Prudence, 
auntie ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the old lady, with emphasis ; 
“ it would. You will do nothing of the sort. 
We will ignore the Lanes hereafter, Faith. I 
hope you will notice them just as little as 
they notice us.” 

“ Moreover,” spoke up Aunt Deborah, “ do 
not forget that the Palmer blood is the equal 
of any in New York. One of your great 
grandfathers, remember, was chief justice of 
Massachusetts ; another was Minister to Eng- 
land ; another was a colonial governor. The 
most distinguished statesmen and diplomats 
of the Puritans were your ancestors, child. 
Therefore mere lace and white shirt bosoms 
need not dismay us.” 

“ Oh, I’m not one bit dismayed,” laughed 
Faith. “ I’d rather be a Palmer than belong 
to all the society sets in New York. But 
somehow I can’t believe that Prudence Lane 
meant to snub me.” 


FAITH PALMER 


96 

The dining-hall was filling up rapidly now ; 
and suddenly at one side, near the orchestra, 
a young woman appeared on a raised platform 
and began to execute a fancy dance. 

Faith’s aunts put down their knives and 
forks and sat watching the exhibition in fresh 
astonishment. 

“ What is the meaning of this?” asked the 
elder aunt. “ Have we come to a monkey 
performance ? ” 

“ I suppose it’s the cabaret,” said Faith. 
“ Leah says they have a performance in al- 
most all the restaurants nowadays.” 

“ It is in very bad taste, to say the least,” 
declared Aunt Abigail. “ It is idiocy. I had 
imagined that one might eat a meal in peace, 
even in New York.” 

“ There is no peace in New York,” re- 
minded Miss Deborah. 

“ You are right ; there is no peace,” assented 
her sister. 

“ But she dances very prettily — don’t you 
think so ? ” Faith asked, naively. 


IN NEW TORK 


97 

“ No,” disagreed the old lady. “ But no 
matter how well she dances, meal time is not 
the hour for it. How long is she going to 
keep up that bobbing about on the stage? ” 

“ I think she is finishing now — but they are 
giving her an encore, auntie. The people here 
like it, you see.” 

They did call the dancer back twice ; and 
after she was finally through, a young man 
came upon the platform and sang very loudly 
in French. He was encored, too. Then came a 
monologue by a man who mimicked the Irish. 

“ We will go,” said Aunt Abigail. “ When 
I wish to see a Punch and Judy show I shall 
not pay six dollars for it again.” 

But the make-believe Irishman was called 
back by the applause of the diners, and dur- 
ing the hand-clapping Faith suddenly became 
aware that Prudence Lane had turned in her 
chair and was waving her a greeting — -just a 
momentary, fleeting salute it was, and then 
Miss Prudence turned back again to her 
dinner. 


FAITH PALMER 


98 

Faith did not even have opportunity to re- 
turn the recognition. But in the profiles of 
Mr. Lane and his wife she caught a change of 
expression. At the moment when Prudence 
turned, they had been engaged in conversa- 
tion with the people at an adjoining table, 
but apparently the act of their daughter had 
been seen. Mrs. Lane spoke to Prudence with 
evident seriousness, and the girl kept her eyes 
on the table. 

Faith felt the color in her cheeks, and a 
sense of rising indignation within her. So the 
Lanes had seen the Palmers, after all, when 
they came in, and had ignored them pur- 
posely ! It was another snub, as Aunt Abigail 
had said. 

But Prudence was not in sympathy with it ; 
that much was evident. A puzzling thing it 
was to poor Faith, and that night she lay 
awake a long time pondering upon some of 
the curious inconsistencies of this new life in 
the metropolis. 


CHAPTER VII 


A PAIR OF GLOVES 

Faith went shopping the following week. 
She needed a pair of gloves and some other 
things, and she undertook the rather dar- 
ing exploit of going alone. She and Leah 
Churchill had roamed the big New York 
stores several times since the Palmers had 
been in the city ; but Faith had not ventured 
to find her way unaccompanied in this vortex 
known as the shopping district. Now she was 
just a little uneasy as she found herself whirl- 
ing southward in a subway “ express ” train. 

What an amazing thing it was, this under- 
ground railroad with its four tracks, its long 
cement platforms, its myriad of lights, and its 
rushing trains that made the roar of a Niagara. 
She never could quite get used to the thou- 
sands of people and the never-ending confu- 
sion. No matter how many people got off the 
99 


IOO 


FAITH PALMER 


cars, there were more to get on — crowding 
and shoving one another and selfishly seizing 
the seats the instant they were vacated. No- 
body seemed to care much for anybody else, 
and many women were standing in the aisle 
of the car in which Faith rode, clinging to the 
straps and swaying about while men sat un- 
concernedly reading their newspapers. Faith 
herself had no cause to complain, for a dapper 
gentleman instantly arose and offered her his 
place, tipping his hat in acknowledgment of 
her thanks. She did not just understand why 
she should thus get a seat while other women 
had to stand ; but she observed presently that 
most of the women without seats were not 
well dressed, and certainly not pretty. She 
wondered if that had anything to do with it. 

At the Grand Central Station stop, she left 
the subway, and, climbing the stairs to Forty- 
second Street, found herself in the midst of 
the city’s throng of ever-moving pedestrians. 
Huge buildings towered all around her, and a 
bewildering maze of street-cars, automobiles 


IN NEW YORK ioi 

and wagons cluttered the roadway. She stood 
for a few moments uncertain of her bearings ; 
but, presently locating herself, she made her 
way to Fifth Avenue. 

The Christmas shopping had set in, and it 
seemed as if all the women in New York must 
be abroad on this Saturday morning. Those 
who were not afoot were in the astonishing 
parade of automobiles that moved up and 
down Fifth Avenue — three autos abreast go- 
ing south and three more abreast going north. 
They were so close together and so indiffer- 
ent to the rights of pedestrians that except for 
the traffic policemen at the crossings Faith 
was sure she never could have got to the other 
side of the street. For a few minutes she 
stood watching one of these imposing officers 
as he stopped the parade at will or let it flow 
on again. Truly, she thought, he was a ma- 
gician indeed, with his shrill magic whistle. 

Eut she remembered the errands on which 
she had come ; so she bent her steps south- 
ward a few blocks. She had a little shopping 


102 


FAITH PALMER 


to do, first of all, for her aunts. This she ac- 
complished in one of the smaller Avenue stores 
where Leah had advised her to go. Then she 
went on toward a great department-store still 
further south. 

On Thirty-fourth Street, as she passed a 
confectionery shop, she chanced to see a 
ragged urchin gazing in at the window. He 
was a dirty little chap, wholly unattractive, 
and out of the hundreds of people who passed 
him not one bestowed a second glance. Why 
should they, when he was a mere molecule 
in New York, and New York had other things 
to look at ? 

But somehow Faith was reminded of the 
ragged' little boys she had taught in the un- 
savory McAllister School near Chester — the 
worst and poorest school anywhere around 
that section of the country. She recalled John 
Baptist Condon and Jimmy Haverny, the 
toughest of the McAllister imps whom she had 
tamed a little, and she felt a queer pity for 
this unknown New York boy who seemed so 


IN NEW TORK 103 

much like them. Besides, he was looking so 
wistfully at the tempting candy display. 
Faith was sure he didn’t get candy often. 

“ Would you really like some ? ” she asked, 
stepping up to him. 

The boy turned a pair of squinty black eyes 
upon her in some astonishment. There was 
a furtive, frightened look in them, and for a 
moment he seemed on the point of taking to 
his heels. A very homely and dirty-faced 
boy he was, with grimy hands and a tousled 
head on which sat a tattered cap much too 
small for him. 

“ Would you really like some of the candy ? ” 
she repeated. 

“ I ain’t got the coin,” he returned, staring 
at her. 

“ Oh, but I have.” Faith smiled down at 
him, wondering what sort of home he had. 
“ I’ve got ever and ever so much money, and 
if you want candy you shall have it. How 
many brothers and sisters have you at home ? ” 

“ Four,” said the boy. 


104 


FAITH PALMER 


“ Do they like candy ? ” 

The boy disclosed his teeth in a grin. 

“What kind?” asked Faith. Meanwhile 
she had opened her hand-bag, disclosing in its 
inner pocket a roll of currency. For an in- 
stant the urchin’s glance dropped to this 
thoughtless display, and his shifty eyes had in 
them a sudden craftiness. Faith did not see 
it. 

“ What kind of candy do you like, and 
what kind do your brothers and sisters like ? ” 
she asked again. 

“ I like choc’late,” he said ; “ ’n’ I guess 
they do too.” 

“ Of course ; everybody likes chocolate. 
Well, if you’ll promise to be a real good boy, 
I’ll buy you some of it, and some to take 
home. Are you a good boy most of the 
time ? ” 

“ I dunno.” 

He cast a half-concealed glance at the hand- 
bag again, and shifted his feet uneasily. 

“ Well, will you be a good boy, and not tell 


IN NEW TORK 


io 5 

stories, and not take tilings that don’t belong 
to yon, and not hurt boys who are smaller 
than you ? ” 

The imp hesitated. This was a good deal 
to promise ; but he got his eyes on the bag 
for the third time, and he said, with some 
emphasis : 

“ Yep.” 

“ Then come inside, and we*ll get a nice big 
box of the best chocolates they have.” 

The customers and clerks in the candy store 
watched Faith and the boy in some curiosity 
as they made the purchase. One woman ob- 
served in Faith’s hearing that probably she 
hadn’t been long in New York. Faith pre- 
tended that she didn’t hear, but she flushed 
and averted her eyes. 

“ Now good-by, and remember that you’re 
to be just the best boy you possibly can be,” 
she said to her new friend, as they emerged 
from the shop, the boy with a two-pound box 
of candy under his arm. “ You’ll remember 
it, won’t you?” 


106 FAITH PALMER 

“ Yes, ma’am/’ said he, and took his leave 
with what appeared to Faith to be unceremo- 
nious haste. She saw him running east in 
Thirty-fourth Street, and for a minute she 
watched him. Then she laughed and turned 
to go on her way. 

“ Probably he’s in a hurry to get home with 
the candy,” she reflected. “ What a dear little 
surprise it will be for those poor brothers and 
sisters. I wish I knew where they lived.” 

She went along quite happy. She was now 
in the very center of the shopping maelstrom. 
It seemed to her as if an amazing number of 
streets converged at this point, and that each 
street was so filled with vehicles that it 
couldn’t possibly hold any more. Overhead 
was a noisy elevated railroad, and, alto- 
gether, she was so confused and frightened 
that she might not have got across except for 
the big policeman who rescued her from the 
midst of three or four automobiles. He got 
her by the arm and held up one hand in an 
austere command to the chauffeurs. They 


IN NEW TORK 


107 

stopped meekly and allowed the policeman to 
escort her in some pomp to the opposite side- 
walk. 

“ You must take care of yourself better 
than that/’ he said, as she thanked him with 
trembling lips. “ These New York motor- 
devils are no respecters of persons,” he added. 

Faith was very glad her aunts hadn’t seen 
her narrow escape. When she reached the 
department-store she was quite out of breath, 
and excited. She sat down on a friendly 
stool to rest. 

Very big and very wonderful, indeed, 
seemed the store — reaching back as far as she 
could see and, she knew, high up in the air. 
She wondered how many arc lights there 
were, flaring away under the ceilings. She 
wondered, too, how many customers there 
were in the store, and how many clerks. 
Certainly not enough of the latter, though no 
doubt there were thousands of them. She 
saw scores and scores of women lined up outside 
the counters, trying to get a chance to buy. 


io8 FAITH PALMER 

Then Faith began to wonder what sort of girls 
these store clerks might be. Among them she 
saw many who didn’t seem much older than 
she herself — and many who were pretty and 
refined in appearance. Where did they all 
live, and why were they working here in this 
feverish place — and did they like to work 
there? She wondered how she would like it 
herself ; and she shuddered a little. Truly, 
Fate had been kinder to her than it had to 
most girls. Even though her father and 
mother were dead and she had come from 
far-off California to live with her grandaunts, 
Providence had dealt very gently with her. 
She was cared for and loved and protected. 
She had a dear home, and everything she 
needed without working for it, and a most 
wonderful number of things she didn’t need. 
And then she was the only one to inherit a 
great deal of money, so that she never should 
have to work in a store or do the unhappy 
things so many, many girls were obliged to 
do in order to live. 


IN NEW YORK 


109 

Faith sighed and reproached herself when 
she reflected that, even with all she had, she 
had complained because she didn’t have just 
all the friends in Nbw York that she wanted. 

She got up and asked a floor-walker to 
direct her to the gloves. When she found 
that counter she also found many customers 
ahead of her, so she stood there and watched 
the clerks and the customers. 

One of the sales-girls, in particular, attracted 
her attention — a rather small girl, dressed, 
like all the women clerks, in black. Black 
seemed to become this girl especially well, 
although she wasn’t eighteen in appearance. 
She was rather frail and white, but not sickly 
in looks. Indeed, her eyes were very blue 
and bright, and she had a most elusive dimple 
in her left cheek when she smiled. For the 
most part she was sober and thoughtful, and 
Faith wished she would laugh oftener, so the 
dimple would come. 

At last a large woman, standing behind 
Faith, said to her, in a motherly voice : 


1 IO 


FAITH PALMER 


“ My dear, if you expect to get a pair of 
gloves this morning you must crowd your way 
in and insist on getting your rights. You 
might stand here for hours and never get up 
to the counter if you didn’t elbow and push 
and fight if necessary. Why, a dozen women 
have crowded themselves in ahead of you, child, 
and you’ve let them do it, without a word ! ” 

“ I'm afraid I’m a poor shopper,” laughed 
Faith ; but she moved up, and, assisted by the 
aggressiveness of the large woman back of her, 
presently got to the counter. 

* Then, in the course of time, the sales-girl 
with the dimple spoke to her : 

“ What kind of gloves would you like ? ” 
She had a pleasing voice, with a quiet, edu- 
cated accent. As Faith caught her eyes she 
smiled, and the dimple chased itself in and 
then out again. 

“ A tan, please ; and perhaps you’d better 
measure my hand. The last gloves I got are 
really too small for me. I suppose I’m still 
growing.” 


IN NEW TORK 


1 1 1 


“ Of course,” said the other ; “ so am I. I 
tear out my own gloves dreadfully. Well, 
here are some that I think will fit you — we’ll 
just try them on.” 

Faith put her elbow on the counter-pad and 
the girl with the dimple fitted her. Mean- 
while the two chatted, about nothing in par- 
ticular. But all the while Faith felt a grow- 
ing interest in this pale but pretty little sales- 
girl, who really couldn’t be much older than 
she, and who worked away so industriously 
and with such a matter-of-fact atmosphere. 
It was too bad, Faith thought, that she had 
to work in a store. 

14 1 think these will do — and thank you 
very much.” 

“ Will you take them or have them sent — 
charge or cash ? ” asked the sales-girl. 

“ Oh, I’ll take them, and pay for them now. 
We haven’t any charge account. You see, we 
always pay when we buy things. It’s so much 
better — don’t you think ? Why ” 

Faith paused and sat looking into her hand- 


I I 2 


FAITH PALMER 


bag. She had found it hanging open on her 
arm. Then she fumbled in it for a minute, 
and took out a key and a handkerchief and a 
card-case. 

“ Why, this is strange,” she said, searching 
again and removing some samples of cloth, a 
small parcel or two, and various odds and 
ends. “ I can’t find my money ! ” 

“ It may be in that other pocket,” suggested 
the sales-girl. 

“ No, because I have looked.” But Faith 
looked again. “ It isn’t there, and it doesn’t 
seem to be anywhere ! ” 

For the third time she made a thorough 
canvass of the pockets of the bag. She took 
everything out and piled them in a little heap 
on the counter. No money ! 

A dozen women were watching her now, 
some with impatience because they wanted to 
be waited on themselves, and some with a 
hard look of incredulity. They believed 
Faith to be playing for sympathy in the hope 
that somebody would pay for the gloves. 


IN NEW YORK 113 

They knew, and the sales-girls knew, that 
more than one woman had worked the trick, 
borrowed the money, and never been heard 
from afterward by the lender. But happily 
Faith was innocent of the fact that such dis- 
honest women existed. 

For half a minute she sat bolt upright on 
the stool, her face a brown study. Then the 
expression changed, her eyes seemed to snap, 
and she observed with a good deal of force : 

“ Oh, that little villain ! Oh-h I If I only 
had him here now ! ” 

Some of the women laughed, and Faith 
flushed to the temples. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said, turning sud- 
denly to the girl who had waited on her. “ I 
beg your pardon, but I’ve had my pocket 
picked. And I know who did it — the little 
wretch ! It was a boy I felt sorry for, and — 
and he did look so hungry as he stood there 
at the candy store window. I just couldn’t 
resist taking him in. Oh-h ! the little robber ! 
I know now just when he did it.” 


FAITH PALMER 


114 

“ Was it much money ? ” asked the girl back 
of the counter. 

“ N-no, not so very much — only sixteen or 
eighteen dollars ” 

“ Mercy I ” interrupted the other. “ I should 
say that was a great deal. It is more than I 
should want to lose. You had better report 
the matter to the police right away.” 

“ It wouldn’t do any good,” said Faith, 
“ because they never could find that miserable 
boy. And anyhow, I should not want him 
put in jail. I suppose he never would have 
done it if somebody hadn’t shown him how — 
and he was such a little fellow. But what in 
the world am I going to do ? ” 

A woman with hard lines in her face, stand- 
ing near, remarked in an audible voice that 
it was very prettily done, but that she for one 
wasn’t fooled. If somebody else wanted to 
loan her two dollars with which to pay for the 
gloves, well and good, but not she — oh, never ! 

Faith wheeled suddenly on her stool, and 
seldom had her brown eyes flashed as they 


IN NEW YORK 


ll 5 

did now. She was as mild as a spring morn- 
ing, was Faith, but deep down within her was 
something of Aunt Abigail’s spirit. 

“ You are very unkind ! ” she said. “ I 
have not asked you for money, nor have I 
asked anybody else — and I don’t mean to ! 
I wasn’t even addressing you, madam, and 
you had no right to be listening.” 

Then she turned back to the clerk. 

“ I’m sorry,” she said, “ but I can’t take the 
gloves. It has been dreadful, I know, to 
cause you all this trouble for nothing, but it 
is done, and cannot be helped. Thank you 
ever so much ” 

“ You can have the parcel sent out C. 0. D.,” 
suggested the sales-girl, her face quite troubled. 

“ No,” she returned, after a moment’s hesi- 
tation ; “ I’m afraid I can’t. My aunts are 
opposed to anything of that sort. They al- 
ways pay cash. Of course they’re peculiar, 
but — but it’s their way ; and I think it is a 
good way, too. If they can’t pay for a thing, 
they don’t get it.” 


FAITH PALMER 


1 1 6 

“ Well,” said the sales-girl, “ I’m sorry. If 
you need any money to get home with, I can 
let you have some. I haven’t much in my 
pocket ” 

The insult bestowed by the hard-faced 
woman was rankling deeply in Faith’s heart 
just then. This woman was still standing 
there watching her, with a cynical smile on 
her thin lips. Faith felt like flying at her 
and clawing her eyes. As to accepting even 
a loan while this detestable creature was there 
seemed quite out of the question. 

“ You are very kind,” said Faith ; “ thank 
you ever and ever so much ; but if I need any 
money I’d rather ask somebody who knows 
me.” 

“ If you have any trouble finding your 
friends, come back here,” invited the clerk, 
with a friendly smile that sent the dimple 
jumping again. “If you don’t see me, ask 
for me — my name is Brenda Castle.” 

Faith hesitated. Then she leaned over the 
counter and spoke in a low tone : 


IN NEW YORK 117 

“ My name is Faith Palmer, and I really do 
thank you for believing in me. I hope I can 
see you some time again ; but I simply can’t 
take any money. I’ll get home somehow. 
Good-by.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


A PENNILESS GIRL 

Faith walked away with a confused sense 
of humiliation, anger and apprehension. It 
was her first brush against New York’s under- 
current of crime, and the loss of her mone}' 
was a rude shock to her tender sensibilities. 
It didn’t seem as if anybody could be so de- 
praved and ungrateful as to pick her pocket, 
as it were, while she was engaged in the very 
act of befriending the thief. But on top of 
this had come her distressing experience at 
the store — first, the mortification of being 
compelled to leave the gloves after she had 
really bought them, and, second, the uncalled- 
for affront of the unknown woman in the aisle. 
Her heart was torn with conflicting emotions, 
softened, however, by the recollection of 
Brenda Castle. 

“ What a dear ! ” Faith reflected, as she left 
1 18 


IN NEW TORK 


119 

the store and rejoined the crowds on the 
street. “ I’m sure I should love her if I had 
the chance ; but I don’t suppose I shall ever 
see her again. Oh, what a place New York 
is ! There are so many people in it one would 
love to know, and so few one really can know.” 

She understood now just what it meant to 
be lonely among a great throng of people. 

Once around the corner, she paused in a 
doorway and opened her bag again, in the 
hope that the thief might have left some stray 
coins. But she had had only a few coins, 
anyway, and he had scooped them out with 
considerable skill, along with the bills. 

By this time she doubted the wisdom of her 
refusal to accept the small loan Brenda Castle 
had proffered. How silly the act now seemed. 
She almost convinced herself that she ought 
to go back and get a nickel for car fare. But 
she remembered that the unforgivable woman 
would most likely be there still. She turned 
away and walked resolutely up Broadway. 
She could walk home — and she would ! 


120 


FAITH PALMER 


Mentally, as she walked, she performed a 
problem in arithmetic. Thirty-four from one 
hundred and twenty — left eighty -six. The 
Palmer apartment was up near One Hundred 
and Twentieth Street — eighty-six blocks away l 
True, they were not long blocks, but, in addi- 
tion, her path lay in a diagonal course, and 
this meant many blocks further. 

She stopped suddenly near Times Square, 
as she remembered the telephone in the Pal- 
mer apartment. She might call up her aunts 
and ask them to send a messenger boy to her 
with money. But she went along again in a 
moment with a little laugh. It would cost a 
nickel to call, and where was that nickel? 

On she trudged, and on and on. Faith was 
a good walker. The frequent “ nature ram- 
bles ” at Fordyce Hall had strengthened her 
endurance and given her courage hardihood ; 
but she had already walked a long distance 
that day in Morningside Park, before she 
started on the shopping trip. And now she 
knew that she was getting tired fast. The 


IN NEW TORK 


121 


events of the morning had sapped her nerve 
force, and she was feeling quite weak and 
wretched before she reached Columbus Circle 
at Fifty-ninth Street. It was here that she 
touched a corner of Central Park, stretching 
away to the north in a vast expanse of bare trees. 

For a few minutes she sat down on a piece 
of stone coping to rest. Across the way she 
saw a drug store, and within it caught a 
glimpse of a soda-counter. The thought of it 
made her feel even weaker, for over there, in 
all probability, they served hot chocolate and 
bouillon and such things. 

Hot chocolate ! Wistfully did Faith gaze. 
Then she thought of a picture she had once 
seen of a tramp sitting on a bench under a 
tree at some city square, lonely and penniless 
and famished. She had felt so sorry for the 
man in the picture — and she felt even sorrier 
for him now. How dreadful, she reflected, to 
be in such a predicament in the midst of 
plenty, even luxury. She was sure she should 
appreciate this hereafter, all the rest of her life. 


122 


FAITH PALMER 


And surely she was in the midst of luxury 
now. It seemed to her that the stream of 
automobiles going up Broadway, and shooting 
through the park, really mocked her. Great, 
beautiful cars they were, most of them, glid- 
ing along so smoothly and fast that they were 
gone even while she watched them — but more 
of them came along, and more, and more. 
Some were black, some red, some yellow, with 
all shades between. Some were long touring- 
cars ; some, limousines with glimpses of soft 
comforts within ; some, runabouts. There 
was every description of automobile imagi- 
nable, and all of them were full of happy peo- 
ple, laughing and chatting and forgetting, 
perhaps, that tired and hungry people lived 
in New York — people without even a nickel 
in their pockets. 

Faith felt very sorry for herself for a mo- 
ment ; then she laughed and got up. After 
all, this was just a little adventure. It would 
seem funny enough on the morrow. It was 
real funny already. 


IN NEW YORK 


123 

Bat by the time she reached Seventy-sec- 
ond Street the fun had gone out of it again. 
She was quite giddy with fatigue, and she 
wasn’t sure she was walking in a straight line. 
Mentally she tried some arithmetic again and 
discovered that she still had some forty-eight 
blocks to traverse. 

Forty-eight blocks ! In despair, she sat 
down suddenly on the projecting ledge of a 
basement balustrade. There was a trouble- 
some mist in her eyes, and she got out her 
handkerchief and tried to drive it away. 

“ Faith Palmer — oh, Faith ! ” 

She raised her head suddenly and looked 
around. Surely the voice was familiar — a 
masculine voice with a good deal of melody 
in it. She had heard it somewhere. But just 
at the moment her eyes were blurred by the 
mist and she couldn’t see the owner of it. 
She cast a quick glance up and down Broad- 
way, but could not see anybody she knew or 
had ever seen before. 

In confusion, Faith put up her handker- 


FAITH PALMER 


124 

chief and got to her feet. She looked at the 
windows back of her, then at the sky, then up 
and down the street once more. 

“ Faith Palmer — as sure as I live 1 Oh, 
Faith ! ” 

The voice seemed to come from the street ; 
but there was nothing in the street just then 
but a mighty automobile that stood throbbing 
and smoking, and surely the voice could not 
come from that ! 

Then a feminine voice spoke : 

“ Faith — look here ! Can't you see us — up 
in the car ? ” 

Then she saw them. The next moment a 
young man bounded out of the car and strode 
over to her. He was a fine, manly looking 
youth of eighteen, dark, with black eyes, and 
a graceful, easy bearing. He wore a heavy 
automobile coat and gauntlets, and had a 
streak of black grease under one eye. 

“ Bruce Worthington ! ” 

This surprised exclamation escaped the girl, 
and the color flew to her cheeks. 


IN NEW TORK 


125 

“ The same 1 ” said the boy, touching his 
cap. “ I feared we’d never make you hear. 
I suppose you are out for a ‘ nature ramble/ 
but you choose a funny spot for a nap. Sorry 
to disturb you, but we thought perhaps you’d 
like to ride home — if you’re going that way. 
And say, Faith, it seems mighty good to see 
you again. We heard you were spending the 
winter in New York, and mother was going 
to get your address and go up to see you. 
We’re living in New York ourselves this 
winter ; at least, the folks are. I’m in Yale, 
you know.” 

Faith offered the young man her hand, and 
then returned the greeting of his mother in 
the automobile. A bit confused the girl was 
for a moment, but presently she laughed. 

“ I wasn’t exactly taking a nap,” she said, 
“ though I certainly did feel like it. I was 
resting while I tried to count up the number 
of blocks I still had to walk. I think there 
were forty-eight of them — or eighty-four ; I 
wonder which. And I simply had to walk 


126 


FAITH PALMER 


them, you know, because I had no idea you 
would come along with that lovely big car.” 

They had walked out into the road and 
were standing beside the automobile. Bruce 
had been driving and his mother, a comfort- 
able and seemingly young mother for so old a 
boy, was in the back seat. 

“ But there are street-cars and subways and 
motor buses in New York, my dear,” re- 
minded this cheerful lady. 

“ Oh, yes,” acceded Faith ; “ but it takes 
money to ride in them.” 

“ Money ? ” It was Bruce who asked the 
question. “What’s the matter with you, 
Faith Palmer? ” 

“ I haven’t any money,” she said, and cast 
a roguish but wearied glance at his mother. 
“ I haven’t even one poor little nickel, and 
that was why I expected to walk those forty- 
eight or eighty-four blocks. I could have 
done it, I suppose, for I’ve already walked 
thirty-eight or eighty-three — really, I can’t 
tell you which. Anyhow, I’ve walked from 


IN NEW TORK 


127 

Thirty-fourth Street ; you can figure it out for 
yourselves.” 

“ Faith Palmer I ” exclaimed Mrs. Worth- 
ington, while Bruce stared. 

“ Oh, it’s simple enough, after all,” the girl 
explained. “ In New York I imagine it's the 
simplest thing in the world to get one’s 
pocket picked and lose all one’s money and 
have to walk home. I suppose almost every 
one gets it done at one time or another — only 
every one isn’t lucky enough to sit down for 
a nice little cry, and then look up and see a 
wonderful automobile right before her, wait- 
ing to carry her home.” 

“ Faith Palmer ! You get right in here 
this minute. Bruce, open the door. Dear 
me, I’m sure I should be half dead if I’d 
walked eighty-three blocks, or even thirty- 
eight. Bruce, help Faith in.” 

As the boy threw open the door and took 
the girl’s arm he observed, with a chuckle : 

“ If I’m not mistaken I rescued you once 
before, when you had been taking a nature 


128 


FAITH PALMER 


ramble up near Fordyce. Only that time you 
and Esther Kendall were lost in a snow-storm 
and had missed the road by twenty feet and 
had given yourselves up to perish — remem- 
ber?” 

Faith laughed rather wearily. 

“ And you nicknamed me Miss Never For- 
get, and said you’d never forget me — and you 
haven’t. You’re like a good prince or knight 
in a story. Well, you don’t know how glad I 
am.” 

She sank on the cushion beside Mrs. Worth- 
ington, a deep sigh escaping her. 

“ You poor dear ! ” said the lady, drawing a 
fur robe almost over her. “ And you’re so 
cold, too, aren’t you ? ” 

“ And so hungry ! ” murmured Faith, with 
just the trace of an arch look in her weary 
eyes, as she peeked out over the edge of the 
robe. 

Then the car shot ahead and clipped off the 
blocks of upper Broadway at the speed of a 
railroad train. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE WEEK-END PARTY 

Faith stood under the vaulted dome of the 
Grand Central Station, amid the throng of in- 
coming and outgoing travelers. There was 
an anxious look on her face, and her eyes 
roved uneasily from the big clock on the wall 
to the iron gates that led to the train plat- 
forms. Trains were always late, she thought; 
especially when people were coming whom 
one wanted so much to see. And it did seem 
as if every train on the railroad must have 
come in except the one that was to bring down 
the house-party, as she had laughingly put it, 
from Fordyce and Vassar. Two-thirds of the 
house-party was coming from Fordyce — Betty 
Fairchild and Faith's roommate of the previ- 
ous year, Rita Maxon. The other third was 
from Vassar — Esther Kendall, who had played 

129 


FAITH PALMER 


13° 

a rather conspicuous part at Fordyce the pre- 
ceding winter. What a long time it seemed 
to Faith since those happy but somewhat 
tempestuous Fordyce days, though in reality 
she had left the school in June and it was 
now only the middle of November. 

She looked at the clock again, and walked 
over to the bulletin-board, and then stood 
back and studied the clock for the fortieth 
time. Then one of the iron gates was sud- 
denly shoved back and from the opening 
emerged the advance guard of a fresh train- 
load of people from somewhere. Faith re- 
treated a little so as to get a broader angle 
of vision. It was just possible, she thought, 
that this might be the arriving house-party 
— though very improbable. She had watched 
so many of these parades since she had waited 
there at the Grand Central ! 

At the front came two men with suit-cases, 
scurrying across the vast depot concourse as if 
some momentous event depended upon their 
arrival. Perhaps, Faith thought, they were 


IN NEW TORK 


I 3 I 

trying to make a record-breaking trip around 
the world. 

Behind these two was a man bearing three 
satchels in one hand, an enormous roll of 
steamer-rugs in the other, and a bulky fur 
overcoat thrown across one arm. With him, 
apparently, but half a dozen steps behind, was 
a stout woman with two bags and another roll 
of blankets, not to mention sundry wraps. 
She was trying frantically to keep up with 
the man. Evidently they were coming to 
embark for a European trip, Faith concluded, 
and were dreadfully afraid they had missed 
their steamer. 

Then came two red-capped porters carrying 
an amazing lot of hand-baggage on their 
shoulders ; and back of them a lady with two 
awed and hurrying children ; and still further 
back another porter carrying a smaller child 
and a grip. The child was screaming in fright 
at the black face of its captor. Faith felt in- 
dignant. 

Just then somebody from the waiting crowd 


FAITH PALMER 


13 2 

in the lobby sprang forward, and somebody in 
the travelers’ parade dropped a lot of suit-cases 
and bags, and there was a great show of kiss- 
ing and hugging. The parade was baited for 
a minute by the obstruction, but when it 
moved on again Faith saw something that 
caused her to elevate herself suddenly on 
tiptoe. Then she put up her hand and waved 
a little handkerchief, and dodged through 
the crowd, colliding with a fat man and 
narrowly escaping a header over somebody’s 
satchel. 

“ Betty Fairchild ! ” she cried. 

Miss Betty dropped her own bag on a man’s 
toe, and hugged Faith. Then another girl, 
smaller than Betty, recklessly let go of a suit- 
case, so that it tumbled over directly in the 
path of the parade. But she let it lie there. 

“ Rita Maxon ! ” Faith cried. 

There was more hugging, and the parade 
halted again. 

But .there was still another girl to come. 
She was larger than any of them, and she 


IN NEW YORK 


*33 

carried two suit-cases. No sooner had Faith 
emerged from the second embrace when she 
flopped into the third. 

“ Esther Kendall ! ” 

Esther, like the others, dropped her baggage. 
She couldn’t help doing it, under the impetu- 
ous greeting of Faith. And now, with all the 
baggage in a heap and the parade completely 
stalled, Faith hugged all three of the girls 
again. At last the house-party had come. 

One of the depot ushers came running over 
and moved the bags to one side. 

“ Please don’t block the passage,” he said, 
not very politely. “ Move along, miss ! Just 
save a kiss or two until you get home. They’ll 
keep.” 

Faith retreated, casting indignant eyes on 
the man. 

“ The idea ! ” she exclaimed. “ As if one 
didn’t have the right to say hello to one’s 
friends after a separation of ever and ever so 
long — why, it seems years ! Oh, girla, this is 
the most terrible city — people, people, people 


FAITH PALMER ‘ 


*34 

until you are sick and tired of them. One 
can’t move at all without running into people. 
And they aren’t polite people always. Most 
of them don’t care one single little bit for 
anybody except themselves and — and maybe 
I’m getting that way myself. But didn’t Kath- 
ryn Love come down on the train with you ? ” 

“ No,” said Betty ; “ she came earlier. But 
she’s going to be at the luncheon to-morrow.” 

“ Porter, miss ? ” 

One of the darky attendants lifted his cap 
and bowed. He, at least, was polite. 

“ Yes,” said Faith. “ I wonder if you can 
carry all this baggage. We want a taxi, you 
know.” 

The man gathered up all the bags and suit- 
cases with ease. 

“ This way,” he said, and they followed him. 

Presently the four girls found themselves 
stowed away in a taxicab that was not any too 
commodious, with the baggage stacked up 
in front with the chauffeur. There was a 
crunching of levers and they were off. 


IN NEW YORK 


*35 

It was early twilight, and the lights in the 
stores and on the streets were beginning to 
sparkle as they do at that hour. It was get- 
ting along toward New York’s home-going 
hour, too, and the first detachments of the 
evening rush were abroad. 

“ Dear me, what a mix-up ! ” exclaimed Betty, 
looking out of the taxi window. “ How do 
people ever straighten themselves out in New 
York and find out where they’re going? It’s 
a crazy-patchwork of people, isn’t it? ” 

Betty was very fair, with a good deal of 
color, and her eyes were a deep blue and as 
bright as they were blue. Her hair was auburn 
—or some tinge resembling it, and now, with 
her tresses a good deal disheveled from the 
journey, many a stray curl protruded from 
under her fur-trimmed hat . 4 She wore a 
heavy dark coat, also trimmed with fur, and 
gloves that were a little too tight for her, for 
she confessed that her fingers were cold. 

“ I don’t suppose they ever do straighten 
themselves out,” suggested Rita Maxon. “I 


136 FAITH PALMER 

can't see that it makes a great deal of differ- 
ence whether one gets into the right house or 
not, for all the houses are pretty much alike. 
I'm sure I shouldn’t lodge at home more than 
one night a week if I lived in New York ; the 
rest of the time I should be boarding around 
in the places I happened to get into by mis- 
take." 

Rita was a very attractive girl, like Betty, 
but essentially different. She was a pro- 
nounced brunette, with a complexion like 
velvet, black eyes that were soft rather than 
snappy, and fine, glossy black hair. Some- 
how, her clothes always seemed in perfect 
harmony with the Rita Maxon style of pretti- 
ness — and nobody could deny that she was 
pretty, and more. Now her black velvet coat 
with its upturned collar seemed to melt into 
her olive cheeks, and her little blue-trimmed 
hat set her off rather jauntily. 

Esther Kendall laughed at this sally of 
Rita's, and answered it : 

“ I do hope we’ll not get into the wrong 


IN NEW YORK 


137 

house to-night, unless it happens to be some 
place where dinner is ready and the people 
are expecting company.” 

Esther was different altogether from any of 
the other girls in the taxicab with her. She 
was more on the order of Leah Churchill — 
tall, inclined to be dignified, with large, classic 
features and a tanned face, as if she might 
have been much out-of-doors. Her hair was 
almost red and very heavy. She could have 
been called a “ striking ” girl in all truth- 
fulness. 

“ If we were to get into the wrong house, or 
wrong apartment, girls, it would have to be 
very unusual if it could take care of my whole 
house-party without special preparations,” 
said Faith, as the taxi swung around into 
Fifth Avenue and headed northward amid a 
most extraordinary procession of automobiles. 
“ The four of us would swamp the ordinary 
apartment in this town — oh, our apartment is 
just an ordinary one, so don’t get your ex- 
pectations up. It’s so tiny that I know you 


1 38 FAITH PALMER 

will laugh till you cry when you see it, and 
wonder how in the world the house-party is 
going to live there. 

“ But we’ve arranged it all,” she went on, 
“ so don’t worry till the time comes to sleep. 
I’m not going to tell you now just how we’ve 
arranged to do it — that’s a secret, and part of 
the fun. If it were a great big barn of a place 
the house-party wouldn’t be any fun — only 
we did have a glorious time out at the Worth- 
ington house-party near Fordyce last winter ! 
But that wasn’t New York. I’m just dying 
to show you how people live in New York ; 
that is, most people. Of course there are very 
rich people who live in real houses, and very 
poor people who live like bees, in the tene- 
ments ; but this house-party is going to live 
something like just New York folks, only per- 
haps a great deal better than the majority.” 

“ Well, we are going dreadfully slow for 
New York,” observed Rita. “ New York has 
the reputation of being so terribly fast, but 
here we are — yes, we’ve stopped altogether.” 


IN NEW TORE 


*39 

11 It’s one of the crossing policemen/’ ex- 
plained Faith. “ You see, there are some 
people in New York who haven’t automobiles 
of their own and don’t hire taxicabs. Some 
of them ride in the subway or in the elevated 
trains, or in the surface cars ; but a great, 
great many of them walk.” 

“ I should say they did,” opined Esther, 
looking out at the jam at the crossing. 

“ And if the policeman didn’t stop the 
automobiles, everybody who walks in New 
York would get run over and killed — yes, 
they would I But here we go, and I suppose 
we’ll not be stopped again for three or four 
blocks.” 

“ You’re a regular New Yorker already,” 
laughed Esther. “ How in the world have 
you learned so much in such a little time? ” 

“ I’ve learned more than you think,” pouted 
Faith. “ But of course I can’t expect you 
three girls to understand. With Betty from 
Boston and Rita from Atlanta and Esther 
from way off in Nevada, I expect to have my 


FAITH PALMER 


140 

hands very full. If you don't get your pocket 
picked before you go back to school Sunday 
afternoon, I'll be so glad. Whatever you do, 
don't buy any candy for little boys who look 
hungry — don’t do it if you value your purse !" 

Faith told them of her exploit, and then 
about Bruce Worthington, at which they in- 
dulged in a chorus of “ ohs." They knew 
Bruce very well. Hadn’t he been a senior the 
previous year at Top Ridge Academy, two 
miles from Fordyce Hall ! And hadn’t he 
been rather popular with some of the girls 
when he came down to the Fordyce receptions 
and other affairs ! Oh, yes, Bruce Worthing- 
ton was a handsome young man — all the girls 
conceded. Not only was he handsome, but 
he was very good company when he chose to 
be, and he had an exceptionally good voice 
for a serenade. So far as they could recollect, 
however, he had serenaded Ford}^ce only once, 
and on that occasion he and his comrades had 
picked out a spot under the window of the 
room occupied by Faith and Rita. But the 


IN NEW YORK 


H 1 

songs the quartet sang made it plain that 
Faith was the happy girl to be honored. 

This recollection was now distinct in Faith’s 
memory, so her cheeks were very red. 

Then the taxi got out of the crush of auto- 
mobiles, as it went along up Fifth Avenue ; 
and presently it turned into Central Park 
and went flying over the smooth drives be- 
tween the wintry trees. There was no snow 
on the ground as yet, but the great park 
seemed dreary enough under its electric lights. 

The car stopped at length on Morniugside 
Drive, and the chauffeur, jumping down, 
threw off the baggage and helped the young 
ladies to alight. Then the colored attendant 
from the lobby of the Morningside Building, 
resplendent in buff uniform and gold lace, 
came hurrying out to get the satchels and bags. 

“ Isn’t he pompous ? ” said Rita, with a 
little toss of her head. “ I suppose you have 
a whole army of these flunkies to wait on 
you here in New York.” 

“ No,” assured Faith ; “ he’s the only one, 


FAITH PALMER 


142 

except Ann, of coarse. She's not a flunky, 
but our personal maid. However, you can 
get all the service you want if you stay at the 
big hotels. Some of them have a servant to 
every guest, on the average ; but I think it 
would cost you ten dollars a day, anyway, and 
perhaps a great deal more." 

“ I'm sure I don't know where people get 
their money," said Rita, whose father was 
very well to do in Atlanta, but who wouldn't 
have cut much of a figure beside the New 
York millionaires. 

Meanwhile a pair of very keen but tearful 
eyes was watching the little “ house-party " as 
it left the taxicab and made its way into the 
building. These eyes belonged to Prudence 
Lane, on the fifth floor, back of a partly-drawn 
window shade. 

The Lane apartment was on the outer side 
of the building, thus commanding from every 
room a view of the street. The room from 
which Prudence was looking had no light just 
then, so there was no danger of being seen by 


IN NEW YORK 143 

the girls below. Prudence was not actuated 
by any spying motive ; but, just the same, she 
wouldn't have been seen there for the world. 
She watched the four girls until they were out 
of sight, and then she watched the taxicab as 
it turned around and sped back toward the 
south. When it disappeared, she dropped the 
shade, walked across the room, which hap- 
pened to be her own bedroom, and threw her- 
self down on a couch, weeping. 


CHAPTER X 


STOWING THEM AWAY 

Every little detail of the arrangements for 
this wonderful week-end had been done under 
Faith’s personal supervision, even to the dust- 
ing, window-washing, and such important 
trifles as the cleaning of the tiny gas range in 
the kitchenette. Aunt Abigail held this di- 
minutive cooking appliance in high disdain, 
accustomed as she was to the great coal range 
at “ The Oaks,” but Faith, more susceptible to 
change of environment, had fallen in with it 
splendidly. Already she could bake the flaki- 
est of biscuits in the funny little oven, and 
concoct upon the small burners the most de- 
licious of things. At the Morningside School 
of Domestic Arts she was progressing wonder- 
fully well in cookery and general household 
procedures. 

Ann, too, fell in with the spirit of the week- 
144 


IN NEW TORK 


145 

end, and took orders from Faith with a sort of 
benign condescension. Faith could handle 
her where Aunt Abigail could not. As for 
Aunt Deborah, she was content to let the 
others do most of the kitchen work, for her 
sister complained of her cooking and freely 
observed that she spoiled everything she un- 
dertook. Besides, Aunt Deborah was free to 
confess that when it came to cooking, Faith 
was a veritable little wizard. Neither Aunt 
Abigail nor Ann could compare with her at all. 

The dinner, therefore, went off very well, 
notwithstanding the cramped dining-room — 
which wasn’t much bigger than that first 
dining-room down on Seventy-ninth Street. 
Faith had arranged the silver, linen and flow- 
ers as well as any one possibly could, consider- 
ing the dimensions of the table. The four 
girls and the two old ladies touched elbows 
all around, and Ann had to keep tight against 
the wall, especially when she passed behind 
Miss Deborah’s chair. 

The oysters were chilled just right, the soup 


146 FAITH PALMER 

was perfect, and the crown roast tender and 
juicy. The only hitch was the salad. Faith 
had practiced on this in advance, as she had 
on most of the dishes ; but at the time she 
tried out a preliminary salad Ann was out for 
the evening and hadn’t seen how it was done. 

Before going to the Grand Central Station 
to meet the girls, Faith had arranged the salad 
fruit daintily on crisp lettuce leaves, and pre- 
pared the mayonnaise and whipped cream. 
But when Ann served the salad Faith saw 
that she had chopped the whole thing and 
mixed it thoroughly. 

“ Oh, Ann ! ” she said, reprovingly. 
“ You’ve gone and spoiled the salad ! It 
shouldn’t have been chopped at all. The 
mayonnaise should have gone on first, and 
then the whipped cream — I’m sure it would 
have been just delicious.” 

Ann looked blank for a moment. 

“ I guess it don’t be no hurt,” she said. 
“ You no tell it me.” 

Faith had made and packed the mousse 


IN NEW YORK 


*47 

herself, and the cake was delicious ; so, all in 
all, the house-party, as Faith persisted in call- 
ing it, began very well. 

Betty, who was not much of a cook herself, 
and who confessed that she didn’t like house- 
work, was rather extravagant, nevertheless, 
in her comments on the progress Faith had 
made in domestic arts. 

“ You always were a wizard in doing 
things,” she observed. “ I am sure I could 
never learn to get up a dinner like this if I 
tried for a year.” 

“ Now, Betty, don’t attempt to make me 
vain,” protested Faith. “ This is just a simple 
little dinner, I’m sure ; and, moreover, I 
didn’t get it up all by myself. Ann is very 
good at such things. But I’m sure I could do 
it if I had to. And I do feel, girls, that I’m 
learning splendid things at school. You 
know, o.ur school teaches the real practical 
things, with just enough science, and not any 
more.” 

“ A very little would be enough for me,” 


148 FAITH PALMER 

laughed Betty. “ I don’t like science any 
better than I like making bread.” 

“ Well,” said Faith, “ one must have some 
science — even in the laundry, you know.” 

“ Ugh ! ” Betty exclaimed. “ I do detest 
laundries ! ” 

“ Why, how foolish ! ” Faith exclaimed. 
“ Our laundry is wonderfully interesting. We 
learn the most fascinating things you could 
imagine. Take soaps, for instance. We study 
different kinds, and learn what they are made 
of, and how they affect different kinds of ma- 
terial. It would amaze you to discover what 
horrible things are in some soaps, and just 
what those horrible things do to fine clothes. 
And then there is starch. It’s a study all by 
itself — and bluings, and bleaching agents of 
different kinds. We learn how to take out 
ink and grease spots and mold and such 
things.” 

“ That is very nice when somebody else 
does the actual washing,” commented Rita. 

“ Oh, but we do the washing ourselves,” 


IN NEW TORK 


149 

Faith informed them. “ Yes, indeed ! We 
really do. We don't have any fancy frills at 
our school. But of course there are so many 
of us that the work is just fun.” 

“ Ugh ! ” repeated Betty, shuddering. 

“ We do the ironing, too — and there is 
more science to that than one might imagine.” 

“ I've done many a washing and ironing,” 
said Esther. 

“ I haven't,” declared Betty ; “ and I hope 
I never shall. I should prefer cooking to 
washing and ironing, if I were to choose be- 
tween two evils.” 

“ Cooking is simply lovely,” laughed Faith. 
“ Of course we had quite a little of that up at 
Fordyce ; but here in New York we have less 
of the fundamentals and chemistry, and more 
of the actual cooking. We go in for the 
economies rather strongly — making things go 
farther. We learn how to cook the things 
right ; but we learn combinations, too, that 
are tasty, and we plan meals that have dif- 
ferent nutritive values. The advanced classes 


FAITH PALMER 


1 5 ° 

take up the fancy things and invalid cookery. 
I’ll get to that |ater on.” 

“ Deliver me from invalids,” sighed Betty. 

“ It is very useful to know how to cook for 
sick people — and for old people,” returned 
Faith, gently. She was thinking of her 
grandaunts. 

There was a little silence after this, during 
which Aunt Deborah looked at Aunt Abigail, 
and Aunt Abigail at Aunt Deborah. Then 
both of them looked at Faith. Miss Deborah 
smiled indulgently ; but Miss Abigail was in- 
scrutable, as usual. 

“ Best of all,” the girl went on, “ I like 
home management. That includes so many 
things that I couldn’t begin to tell you half 
of them. Really, I had no idea there were so 
many things one might learn. Of course 
most of the things are done every day by 
everybody who keeps house, but usually they 
aren’t done right. It’s bad management that 
makes the meals late and the bills high and 
the food bad, and all such things.” 


IN NEW TORK 


151 

“ Perhaps I’ll learn to do things some 
time,” pouted Betty. 

After the last course was disposed of the 
girls turned in to help Ann with the dishes ; 
but with five of them in the kitchenette the 
crush was quite overwhelming. Ann finally 
lost her patience. 

“ What you think it I am ? ” she demanded. 
“ You go out and I do it in a few whiles my- 
self!” 

So they left the funny maid alone, but Rita 
nearly had a fit trying to suppress her laughter. 
After the work was done, however, they went 
back to the kitchenette and Faith showed 
them how to pop corn on the toy stove. 
Betty was pouring melted butter over a pan 
of crisp flakes when the door-bell rang. 

Faith herself went to the door — and ad- 
mitted Bruce Worthington and his mother. 
Out in the kitchen there was a sudden primp- 
ing party ; but there wasn’t much chance to 
discard aprons and tidy up tresses before 
Bruce himself peeked in at the door. 


152 


FAITH PALMER 


“ Pop-corn ! ” he said. “ I smelled it down 
in the elevator.’ 1 

“ Visitors are supposed to stay in the 
parlor,” said Betty. 

“ I see several visitors in the kitchen,” 
retorted the boy, stepping inside and sniffing, 
with a pleased smile. “ Say, but you’ve got 
a great kitchen here ! Thanks ; I don’t care 
if I do.” 

He helped himself to a sauce-dish, scooped 
it full of pop-corn from the pan, and filled his 
mouth. 

“ Keep your seats,” he said. “ I don’t care 
to sit down.” 

This was just a pleasantry, for there was no 
place in the kitchenette to sit upon, except 
the gas range or the closed top of the little 
laundry tubs — doing its duty as a table. 

“ Perhaps the little boy would like some 
mousse,” suggested Rita, with a roguish smile. 
“ Wasn’t there some of it left? ” 

Faith was still in the living-room with her 
aunts and Mrs. Worthington, so Esther got 


IN NEW YORK 


*53 

out the remains of the ice-cream and dished it 
up for the young gentleman. He made short 
work of it. 

“ I'm sorry I didn’t know about this affair 
before,” he said. “ I’d have come around 
earlier. How long has this been going on ? ” 

“ If you mean the week-end,” answered 
Betty, “ it began about three hours ago. You 
did very well in getting here. You know it 
isn’t polite to come too early — especially 
when one is not invited.” 

Betty felt especially privileged with Bruce, 
because she had known him all her life. Be- 
fore moving to New York, the Worthingtons 
had been neighbors of the Fairchilds in Bos- 
ton. Bancroft Fairchild, Betty’s brother, was 
Bruce’s most intimate chum at Yale. 

“ I was invited,” declared the boy. “ Didn’t 
Faith ask my mother and me to come any 
old time? — and any old time is to-night. 
Thanks ; I’ll take some more pop-corn.” 

“ You can have all you want,” said Betty ; 
“ only don’t be a pig and make yourself sick.” 


FAITH PALMER 


154 

Faith appeared at this juncture. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “ you 
are all invited into the living-room to meet 
Mrs. Worthington. Never mind the aprons — 
I’ve still got mine on, you see. For mercy 
sake, what has become of all the pop-corn ? ” 

“ Pop-corn ? ” inquired Bruce, blandly, slip- 
ping his dish out of sight back of him. “ Has 
there been any pop-corn around ? ” 

“Bruce Worthington, you’re a great big 
fraud I ” Faith declared, recovering the dish. 
u But of course you’re welcome to the pop-corn. 
We can pop some more, can’t we, girls?” 

“ A bushel,” said Esther, gravely. “ We’ll 
need that much, at least.” 

“ Fine ! ” exclaimed the young man. “ A 
bushel will be great. But say, girls, I’ll make 
it all right with you. What is the house- 
party going to do to-morrow ? ” 

“ Well,” said Faith, “ we expect, first of all, 
to eat breakfast. Second, we are going to take 
a walk ; and probably we shall ride down 
Fifth Avenue on the roof of a motor-bus. 


IN NEW TORE 


155 

Then we shall do some shopping. Next, we 
are to have luncheon at Delmonico’s — Del- 
monico’s, mind you ! Esther is giving the 
luncheon for us — isn’t it splendid of her? 
Kathryn Love is to be there. That is splen- 
did, too, considering the fact that she wasn’t 
invited to the house-party. But of course 
Kathryn lives in New York, and the house- 
parties she gives are really house-parties. She 
knows that I’d have loved dearly to have her 
here with the girls ; but one can get only so 
many sardines into a can. I shall have to do 
my entertaining in installments. Well, let 
me see ! After the luncheon we expect to 
come back here to the sardine box and dress 
for dinner. We’re invited to dine at Kath- 
ryn’s house. Then, after dinner, Mr. Love 
has invited all of us to the theater ; and after 
that, we’re coming back again to the sardine 
box. Now I think I’ve told you all the 
things on the programme, though I haven’t a 
doubt there’ll be extra numbers.” 

“ I’ll put an extra number on the pro- 


156 FAITH PALMER 

gramme right now,” Bruce returned. “ I’ll 
be around here at ten o’clock with the car, 
and we'll all go for a spin. That'll beat walk- 
ing, or riding on top of a Fifth Avenue motor- 
bus. Oh, you won't have to invite me to the 
Delmonico luncheon to pay for it. I've got a 
luncheon engagement of my own with one of 
the fellows from Yale. But we can have a 
couple of hours of it, anyway." 

The girls looked at one another, and from 
the expression on their faces there wasn’t any 
doubt as to their sentiments. 

“ How lovely 1 " exclaimed Faith. Then a 
serious look came in her eyes. 

“ I wonder if Aunt Abigail will let us go ! " 
she said. “ You know she has ideas about 
such things, and she doesn't approve of auto- 
mobiles. We had so much trouble getting 
her to ride in one, because for years she had 
refused. But after Elder Beaconsmith’s horse 
ran away and left her and Aunt Debby 
stranded out in the country, we persuaded 
her to come home in Mr. Fairchild's car. 


I 


IN NEW YORK 


157 

That was at Chester, you know. Oh, I do 
wonder if she will let us go to-morrow ! ” 

“ Leave that to my mother,” advised Bruce. 
“ She knows how to manage such things.” 

When the kitchenette party entered the liv- 
ing-room they filled it so that two of the girls 
had to sit on chair arms, while Bruce de- 
posited himself on the floor. Faith brought 
a chair for him from the dining-room, but he 
said he liked the floor best because chairs were 
dangerous : he had known of two that col- 
lapsed. 

Aunt Abigail was very prim, but sedately 
gracious. Her old-fashioned gown of black 
grenadine became her perfectly, though she 
looked quite uncomfortable on the three- 
cornered chair that was one of the rented pos- 
sessions of the apartment. On the other hand, 
Aunt Deborah seemed very much at home in 
the single rocker the room boasted. She, too, 
was old-fashioned enough — she always was. 
Faith had often thought it a pity Aunt Debby 
hadn’t married. More than once the girl had 


158 FAITH PALMER 

told her what a lovely grandmother she would 
have made. 

Aunt Abigail was telling Mrs. Worthington 
things about New York. If she ever got back 
to Chester again, nothing could induce her to 
leave it. She didn’t like living in a row of 
Pullman berths, as they lived here in New 
York ; and there was no fool like an old fool. 
She reckoned that both she and Miss Deborah 
had been old fools for coming. But of course 
it was all for Faith, so they could put up with 
it. Faith was a very good girl, with some 
silly notions, however. She would outgrow 
the latter, perhaps, because she had so many 
sensible ideas. 

The old lady’s face relaxed whenever she 
spoke of Faith. 

Just then Faith herself put an arm around 
her neck. 

“ Auntie,” she said, “ Mr. Bruce is going to 
take us four girls for an automobile ride in the 
morning. He is to be here with the car at ten.” 

Aunt Abigail’s face hardened suddenly. 


IN NEW TORK 


159 

Not only did she disapprove of automobiles, 
but of boys. 

“ It will be too cold for automobiling,” she 
said, and her eyes roved over to Bruce, lolling 
on the floor. 

44 The weather man says warmer ; and we 
have plenty of robes,” he informed her. 44 The 
temperature was up to fifty to-day ; it’ll be 
sixty to-morrow.” 

44 1 do not approve of such expeditions,” 
said Aunt Abigail, coming out squarely. 

44 But, auntie,” pleaded Faith, still with an 
arm over her aunt’s shoulder, 44 Esther has 
never seen the ocean, and Mr. Bruce has 
promised to take us out there.” 

44 Boys are habitually careless,” the old lady 
declared ; and Bruce covered his mouth with 
his hand. 

44 My son is a very careful driver,” inter- 
ceded Mrs. Worthington ; but the old lady 
was obdurate. Bruce looked glum and the 
girls were silent. Half an hour later, as the 
Worthingtons were leaving, Bruce’s mother 


160 FAITH PALMER 

got Aunt Abigail in a corner by herself. She 
promised to send the family chauffeur with 
Bruce to hold him in check, and to exact a 
promise of twenty miles an hour as the speed 
limit. If necessary, she would go herself as a 
chaperon. 

The old lady capitulated when she felt 
Faith’s arm going around her neck again. 
Of course she would not ask Mrs. Worthing- 
ton to go, but she thought the chauffeur was 
an excellent precaution. There was no tell- 
ing what exploits these giddy young persons 
might attempt. She regretted that automo- 
biles had been invented. 

By this time it was ten o’clock, and good 
form in the apartment-building prevented 
their playing the piano and singing, as Rita 
proposed. She was rather innocent of city 
etiquette; that is, of large city etiquette a 
la apartment. So Faith said they might as 
well make up the Pullman berths, or close up 
the sardine can — whichever they preferred to 
call it. 


IN NEW YORK 161 

The bedrooms, judged by Chester standards, 
were very tiny, and the three of them — not 
counting Ann’s — would not have equaled 
Aunt Abigail’s room at home. 

In Aunt Abigail’s room here in New York 
the bed, dresser, two chairs and a wardrobe 
took up practically all the space. There was 
no closet and Miss Abigail’s clothes, although 
not over-plentiful, were bulky enough for two 
such wardrobes. The surplus had to be hung 
on hooks on the wall. 

Aunt Deborah’s room — connected with her 
sister’s by the tiled bathroom, was the same 
size ; but the bed was a single one and the 
chiffonier and dressing-table were of a child’s 
size — rather unsuitable and grotesque for Miss 
Deborah, but quite suitable to the room. The 
willow rocker with the bright cretonne cush- 
ions completed the furnishings. 

Faith’s room was “ the cutest thing,” as she 
expressed it. It was, indeed, cute. When her 
trunk was brought in the dresser had to be 
crowded along the wall until the closet door 


162 


FAITH PALMER 


would open only far enough to get through. 
And the closet itself was such a miniature that 
most of Faith’s clothes and accessories had to 
be put in pasteboard boxes and shoved under 
the bed, along with two or three hat boxes. 

While the girls were making their arrange- 
ments, Aunt Abigail came out in her dressing- 
gown. 

“ I shall sleep on the couch in the living- 
room,” she announced, “ and two of the young 
ladies will occupy my bed. It is freshly sup- 
plied with linen ” 

“ No, indeed ! ” cried Betty. “ You are go- 
ing to sleep in your own bed, of course.” 

“ I do not consider it proper to stow com- 
pany away on odd pieces of furniture,” the 
old lady protested. “ I am not accustomed to 
inviting company and treating them as in- 
feriors.” 

“ But this is New York,” reminded Esther, 
who was making up the living-room couch 
for her own use. 

“ In New York they have to treat company 


IN NEW YORK 163 

that way,” added Rita. “ It isn't because 
they don’t know any better, nor because they 
wouldn’t like to do differently; but because 
when people live in New York they can’t help 
themselves.” 

“ When ever and ever so many million people 
live in one city,” supplied Betty, “ they can be 
thankful if they sleep at all. And if 
they invite company, the company may be 
thankful ” 

“ I wish to occupy the couch,” said Aunt 
Abigail. 

“ Now, auntie, you are going straight back 
into your room,” declared Faith ; “ and you 
are going to stay there until morning. This 
is my house-party, and I shall treat it just as 
shabbily as I choose. When it goes away it 
will know more of New York.” 

She and Betty got the old lady by either 
arm and marched her into her bedroom. 

So Esther, having made up the couch with 
some blankets and sofa-pillows, lay down to 
sleep. Betty and Rita took possession of 


164 FAITH PALMER 

Faith’s bed, and Faith — well, Faith, being full 
of resource, and physically small, found the 
Morris chair, beside Esther in the living-room, 
quite satisfactory. She let down the back 
and rested it on a chair, put some bathrobes 
under her to make it softer, and a blanket or 
two over her, and declared that she really felt 
as if she were in a sleeping-car bound for Cali- 
fornia. 

“ It’s perfectly lovely I ” she proclaimed, 
with a sigh. 

And, in reality, it was welcome. The day 
had been full of work and excitement and 
happiness, and she was very tired. Yet, as she 
lay there dreamily drifting, she wondered how 
she should like the prospect of always living 
like this. New York was very wonderful, but 
she was beginning to know the great town ; at 
least, so she thought. 


CHAPTER XI 


DOWN FIFTH AVENUE 

Fifth Avenue was at its best next morning 
when Bruce Worthington guided the family 
touring-car down that resplendent thorough- 
fare. The weather man’s guess had come 
true and the day was balmy and bright, with 
scarcely a suggestion of the near approach of 
winter — except the leafless trees in Central 
Park at the right. 

Under the stipulations entered into by Mrs. 
Worthington on the previous evening, the 
hired chauffeur should have sat up in front 
next to the driving-seat, if not in the driving- 
seat itself. But no hired chauffeur was there. 
Faith Palmer sat there herself, while over in 
the rear seat were Betty, Rita and Esther. 

“ Bruce Worthington,” Faith was saying, as 
the car came to a stop near Fifty-ninth Street 
165 


1 66 


FAITH PALMER 


in response to the uplifted hand of the traffic 
czar on the crossing, “ I’m sure it was dread- 
fully wrong of you to dodge your chauffeur 
this morning and leave him behind at the 
garage. It was really wicked of you to do 
it!” 

Bruce laughed lightly, but perhaps a little 
nervously. 

“ My aunts would be dreadfully angry if 
they knew it,” Faith went on, her tone tem- 
pered by a half-forgiving smile on her lips. 
Of course it was pleasanter not to have the 
chauffeur along, because if he had come she 
couldn’t have sat up in front. She always 
loved to be there. “ They would be dread- 
fully angry,” she repeated. “They’d never 
let you into the house again ! ” 

The traffic czar blew his whistle and Bruce 
threw in the clutch. 

“ Then I suppose I’d come by stealth, and 
you’d let me in yourself — quite romantic ! 
Oh, I’d find some way to get in. You may 
look for me next Saturday night.” 


IN NEW YORK 


167 

“ Don't be too sure that I'd let you in,'* 
Faith said. Then she demanded : 

“ Really and truly, why didn't you bring 
the chauffeur ? " 

“ Because I didn't want him," confessed 
Bruce. “ It's more fun to run the car my- 
self." 

“ Bruce and my brother Bancroft are two of 
a kind — I think that's what they say," 
chirped Betty, “ though I don't play poker. 
Bancroft always leaves the chauffeur behind 
if he can possibly manage it. And chauffeurs 
really are a nuisance sometimes. I'm glad 
Bruce did it. Who wants an old listening 
piece of chauffeur-stupidity along with us? " 

“ Just the house-party," added Rita. 

“ The house-party and Bruce," corrected 
Betty. 

“ Ladies," observed the young gentleman 
under discussion, “ I agree with you on the 
general proposition that there are times when 
hired men are nuisances. They are nui- 


sances 


1 68 FAITH PALMER 

“ When there are girls around,” opined 
Esther. 

“ Such beautiful and charming girls as we 
have with us on the present occasion. But let us 
lay the hired man gently aside and forget him.” 

Faith was silent for a minute, for the affair 
seemed something like a fraud upon poor old 
Aunt Abigail. But there are some things one 
might better forget ; so she proceeded to forget 
this and be merry again. Yes, chauffeurs 
were nuisances sometimes. 

“ Fifth Avenue is so wonderful ! ” Betty 
exclaimed, as the car rolled down the gentle 
slope of Murray Hill. “ Did you ever see so 
many automobiles, and such furs and pomp 
and display? And see that victoria and those 
glossy black horses ! I imagine it’s the equi- 
page of some old-time family that doesn’t 
care for a car. Your aunts ought to have 
something of that sort, Faith.” 

“ They never will,” Faith answered. “ They 
are too much set against ‘ the vanities,’ you 
know.” 


IN NEW TORK 169 

“ But you can get them to do anything, 
Faith. Why don’t you try ? ” 

“ I hardly think I should want a victoria 
myself. If I were to have anything of the 
sort, it would be a nice, cute little automobile — 
of course not here in New York, but when we 
get back to Chester.’’ 

“ And your Aunt Abigail would buy it, too, 
if you really made up your mind to it, Faith. 
She really couldn’t help doing it. If only I 
could hypnotize m}^ mother the way you do 

her, I’d have everything I wanted Oh, 

girls, see that old lady wrapped in a sealskin 
robe lined with purple velvet. And look — 
over there in the automobile ahead ! Isn’t 
that a beautiful leopard skin?” 

Whichever way they looked, they saw a 
living motion-picture of New York’s riches. 
Automobiles of many varieties moved up 
Fifth Avenue and down it, filling the street 
from curb to curb. Some were great royal 
closed cars, but, since the day was so glorious, 
most of them were open, with tops down and 


FAITH PALMER 


170 

their occupants on full display. Rich apparel 
and gorgeous robes prevailed. 

“ It doesn’t seem as if all this could be real, 
does it? ” said Esther. “ I can almost imagine 
we’re in a fairy city, where everybody is rich 
and beautiful, where the stores are all palaces 
enchanted, and nobody ever has any trouble.” 

“ There’s a chap having some trouble now,” 
remarked Bruce. 

Somebody had knocked off an old gentle- 
man’s silk hat, as he crossed the street near a 
great marble club-house, and it had rolled un- 
der a blue limousine which had two servants 
in gold and crimson on the front seat. 

“ What a shame I ” cried Faith. “ And 
look — the car is going right along without 
even stopping ! There, the car behind has 
run over his hat and smashed it ! ” 

The automobile that performed this work 
of destruction was a green one with a rumble 
behind containing a lackey who, as Esther 
put it, looked as if he had been dipped into 
purple ink and then trimmed off with a few 


IN NEW YORK 


171 

other colors. But the car went along and the 
lackey never got down to pick up the remains 
of the hat. 

“ Lackeys never do that — not for any- 
body’s hats except their masters’,” laughed 
Bruce. 

The old gentleman shook his fist from the 
curb ; but nobody seemed to care. Faith 
looked back, feeling as if she ought to apolo- 
gize herself. She wanted to shake that miser- 
able fellow in purple, along with the chauffeur 
who had run over the hat. 

“ I’ve been counting the colors of Fifth 
Avenue,” said Esther, presently. “ I can 
count hats with red, blue, yellow, myrtle, 
orange, cream and brown.” 

Her glance roamed down the street, pausing 
here and there where the sun touched some 
glittering tonneau. 

“And I think the automobiles are colored 
just as gorgeously,” she went on. “Then 
look at the furs. Wh,y, it would seem as if 
the whole Hudson Bay Company was out for 


FAITH PALMER 


172 

an airing, with its complete stock. What 
wonderful furs ! ” 

“ The more one sees of New York, the more 
wonderful it is ! ” declared Rita. “ It's like a 
grand symphony, isn't it ? ” 

But soon they came to the lower end of 
Fifth Avenue, circled through a little park, 
and lo ! the symphony suddenly ended and a 
most horrible discord set in. It seemed as if 
they had traveled by magic to some old-world 
shore. The whole character of the city 
had changed. Mean tenement buildings sur- 
rounded them, and hordes of foreign-born 
people hemmed them in. 

“ Mercy ! ” cried Rita. “ This can’t be New 
York ! ” 

A little further south they crossed over to 
the East Side ; and now the girls gazed in 
sheer amazement. The roadway was filled 
with push-carts — each of which was a minia- 
ture store with dry-goods or groceries or 
general merchandise for sale — and it seemed 
as if a million children romped on the pave- 


IN NEW TORK 


#I 7 3 

ments or rolled in the gutters. Solid rows of 
ghastly tenement buildings confronted them 
as they moved cautiously through the throng 
in the Ghetto, with family washings strung 
on the fire-escapes until the buildings them- 
selves were obscured. Even Betty, who had 
seen more of New York than the other girls, 
had never dreamed of this. Faith was really 
awed. 

“ What a terrible place ! ” she said. “ Do 
all these people really live here ? ” 

“ And a lot more besides,” Bruce informed her. 

“ Then I'll never, never complain again 
about being crowded ! ” 

The automobile traversed block after block, 
all just alike and all swarming with people 
from numerous climes. Stretching away at 
all the cross-streets were the same laundry- 
decorated, dismal rows of tenements, rising to 
the height of five or six stories. Here, Bruce 
said, the people really lived like bees — with 
no exaggerated metaphor to it. 

But at last they got through it and climbed 


FAITH PALMER 


'7 4 

the grade to the mighty Williamsburg bridge ; 
and here the girls held their breath at the 
marvels that unfolded below them — the clut- 
tered roofs of the East Side behind, the East 
River and its shipping far under them, and 
Brooklyn ahead. 

“ I think we have just about time to skim 
out to the ocean/’ said Bruce. “ You’ve seen 
the rich and the poor of it ; so now we’ll 
shake * little old New York ’ for a while and 
give an imitation of an automobile running 
twenty miles an hour.” 

“ Don’t go any faster than that ! ” warned 
Betty. “ You know what your mother prom- 
ised Faith’s aunt.” 

Whether Miss Betty really meant this warn- 
ing or not is problematical. She was pretty 
well used to automobiles herself, and the 
Fairchild cars were not in the habit of 
going at a funereal pace — especially when her 
brother Bancroft was driving. 

“ I’ll do all I can to hold the car down,” 
answered the youth. He turned his head and 


IN NEW YORK 


175 

winked. “ But when a fellow is driving forty 
horses, you know — whoa, Bill ! ” he finished, 
and made a great show of drawing in his 
obstreperous steeds. 

They whisked along through the maze of 
Brooklyn streets, and came out upon a broad 
boulevard where the forty horses behaved 
badly and showed signs of getting away. 
Then they ran through low and wide-spread- 
ing regions where lonely rows of two-family 
flats dotted the landscape here and there, and 
came at length to the great ocean itself. 

To Faith and Betty, and in a measure to 
Rita, it was very familiar ; but Esther stood 
up solemnly and gazed in silence at its mys- 
terious stretches. Then she observed : 

“ How grand and quiet and awful it seems, 
after New York ! ” 

“ And how little one mite of a mortal is be- 
side it ! ” said Rita. 

“ When that particular mite happens to be 
a certain young lady who lives down at At- 
lanta ! ” put in Bruce, thus spoiling the charm. 


176 FAITH PALMER 

He took them for miles along a road that 
bordered the sea for most of its distance, but 
finally he remarked, as he turned off to the 
left: 

“ We’ll have to do some pretty fair hiking 
if we make Delmonico’s by one o’clock.” 

The road led them straight into the interior 
of Long Island, but at first it ran through a 
marshy stretch, half water and half reeds and 
wild rice. A dismal, melancholy country it 
was, brown and bare and cold-looking. It 
might have been a thousand miles from New 
York, so far as appearances indicated. 

“ Do you see that smoke over there? ” said 
Bruce, pointing. In the distance a thin line 
of haze trailed along the horizon. “ Well, 
that’s a railroad train. We’ll be alongside 
the tracks in ten minutes, for we’ve got a 
straight run.” 

“ Twenty miles an hour ! ” said Rita, from 
behind her monstrous fur robe. It was cold 
out here by the ocean. 

“ Twenty miles an hour,” echoed Bruce ; 


IN NEW YORK 


1 77 

but there was a trace of something else in his 
voice — perhaps irony. 

Faith said nothing. She was thinking, 
nevertheless. But boys would be boys. In- 
deed, they wouldn’t be boys, she reflected, if 
they always did what their mothers told them 
to do, and never did things they were told not 
to do. Besides, how could they ever get back 
to Esther’s one o’clock luncheon if they didn’t 
go just a little bit fast? 


CHAPTER XII 


THE MONSTER BEHIND 

The speedometer was covered with an edge 
of a robe, and Mr. Bruce so contrived things 
that it remained covered up. He was not 
overanxious to see it himself. 

“ Confound these horses ! ” he said, with a 
wry face, tugging at the wheel with a great 
show of strength. “ Confound the beasts — 
they know they’re going home. Did you 
ever try to drive forty horses, Faith ? ” 

“ Yes ; and I drove them straight up a sand- 
hill, when they wouldn’t behave, and stopped 
them. They couldn’t pull the car up the 
hill — could they, Betty?” 

She turned back to her friend for corrobora- 
tion. 

“ No, Faith stopped them all right, and 

saved a baby who was down in the road. She 
178 


IN NEW YORK 


179 

forgot to tell you why she turned the forty 
horses up the hill. Of course she took 
chances on killing everybody in the car, to 
save the baby — but we were all willing to be 
killed, every one of us.” 

“ I'm not willing to be killed to-day ! ” ad- 
vised Rita ; “ at least, not unless some poor 
baby gets in the way. However, I don't see 
any hill around here, so I think you'll have 
to stop your horses some other way.” 

“ Whoa ! ” said Bruce, in a very loud 
voice. 

But the forty horses didn't “ whoa.” They 
kept right on prancing. There was no wind 
except what the automobile created ; but this 
of itself was a gale. In a measure the high 
wind-shield sent it off over their heads, and 
Faith, cuddling down in her furs, watched the 
road roll under the car, faster and faster. Like 
most forbidden things, this one was fascinat- 
ing. 

The railroad had seemed a dreadfully long 
distance away, but they reached it in an amaz- 


i8o 


FAITH PALMER 


ingly short time. Now they were headed 
straight for New York. The way was clear, 
with only an occasional automobile in sight. 

In a few minutes the road crossed the rail- 
road track, and Faith was a little frightened 
at the way Bruce made the crossing. But 
they could see pretty far up and down the 
rails, so there was scarcely any danger of 
trains. 

“ I do think you ought to be cautious,” she 
said, however. “ I’m sure these railroads are 
always dangerous. Do be careful.” 

“ I’ve been running automobiles since I was 
fourteen years old,” he laughed, “ and I never 
yet ran into a train.” 

Just then Betty leaned forward from behind 
them. 

“ Bruce,” she said, “ don’t go so dreadfully 
fast.” 

“ Twenty miles an hour ! ” he answered, 
turning his head for a moment. 

Then, ahead of them, they saw that the 
road recrossed the railroad track, just back of 


IN NEW YORK 181 

a slight elevation of ground that hid the road- 
bed behind. Perhaps the admonition of the 
girls had had some effect, for Bruce slowed 
down to a very respectable pace before he 
reached the tracks. The highway crossed the 
railroad right-of-way at an acute angle, perhaps 
thirty degrees, and the automobile was going 
not more than fifteen miles an hour when its 
front wheels gained the summit of the slight 
rise. 

Then, when the touring-car was almost 
upon the steel rails, a hoarse and horrible 
warning sounded in their ears back of them. 
To the four girls it seemed like the triumphant 
roar of some diabolical monster about to crush 
and annihilate them and blot the automobile 
from the earth. 

Faith turned in her seat and looked back, 
and saw the dreadful thing bearing down on 
them. Never had a locomotive looked so big 
before ; never had she seen one coming so 
fast, with so much steam and smoke encircling 
it. Fire was coming out of the smoke-stack 


182 


FAITH PALMER 


and the glare of the sun on its metal was 
blinding. The other girls were looking back, 
too. But not Bruce ! He was gazing straight 
down the railroad track toward New York, 
and his fingers twitched upon the two little 
levers on the steering-post. He knew there 
was no time to get over the crossing. There 
was just one chance, and that was to turn 
abruptly upon the railroad right-of-way and 
race ahead of the train I It was a matter of a 
couple of seconds to be gained — just a twin- 
kling ! 

One of the girls in the rear seat screamed. 
Faith was vaguely conscious of this, and of 
the second roar of the locomotive whistle that 
followed. She did not scream herself ; her 
blood seemed to stop circulating and her lips 
were glued together. She simply sat there, 
looking back at the oncoming engine. 

Then the automobile swerved to the right 
so suddenly that she tipped over in her seat 
and was tangled up in the furs for a few 
seconds. She thought the locomotive had hit 


IN NEW TORK 183 

them, and she shut her eyes and clenched her 
teeth. 

Then, somehow or other, she got her bal- 
ance again and sat up, clutching the rail at 
her side and bracing her feet. The robe had 
dropped down now around her knees and a 
hurricane shrieked over the windshield and 
sent her hair streaming, for the little automo- 
bile bonnet she had worn was adrift and held 
by one ribbon. She knew the train hadn’t hit 
them, for Bruce still sat beside her, at the 
wheel, very rigid and silent ; and the automo- 
bile was going — how fast she had no idea, but 
certainly more than the stipulated twenty 
miles an hour. She didn’t care now how fast 
it went — fifty, a hundred, a thousand miles 
an hour wouldn’t be a bit too fast ! No mat- 
ter what Mrs. Worthington had promised 
Aunt Abigail ! No matter if Bruce had 
storied to her and tried to make her believe 
he hadn’t been going faster than twenty miles 
an hour. No matter about anything, if only 
he would make the automobile go just as fast 


184 FAITH PALMER 

as it possibly could go — and keep it going un- 
til it got far ahead of the train ! 

Faith took it all in at a glance. They were 
shooting down the railroad track with the 
train at their heels, so close that she could 
feel the heat from the engine. It was dread- 
fully rough riding, over the ties, but she liked 
it, she was sure she did. Of course she had 
to hang on and brace herself very firmly, but 
she didn't mind the bouncing. It was better 
than being smashed into smithereens. 

Then suddenly the hot feeling at her back 
subsided, and, somehow, she knew the race 
was won. With an effort she turned her head 
again — the engine was losing rapidly. Inside 
the cab window she saw a man waving his 
hand at her and she thought he was shouting, 
though she couldn't hear anything except the 
roaring and crunching and hissing. 

Just then something snapped under them 
and the automobile seemed to flatten. It re- 
bounded, flattened again, snapped the second 
time, and — stopped ! 


IN NEW YORK 185 

Bruce sat stock still for a few seconds. Then 
he turned slowly in the driving-seat and 
looked back. 

“ Twenty miles an hour I ” he said, rather 
huskily. “ You can tell your aunts that I 
had to go faster than that — and I guess they 
won't care if I did." 

“ And your brain worked faster than that, 
too ! ” said Faith, with a queer, faint note in 
her voice. 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE UNFRIENDLY CAR 

Faith was very glad to get on the ground 
once more, and so were the other girls. It 
really seemed as if the smoking monster a 
little way up the track might get them yet. 

The conductor of the train, however — and 
the engineer, too — seemed to prefer to have 
the automobile out of the way before going 
on ; so Bruce got back on the driving-seat and 
managed the steering-wheel while the men of 
the train crew, assisted by some of the passen- 
gers, pushed the disabled car off the track and 
down alongside the fence. It was hopelessly 
out of commission, for all it would do, in re- 
sponse to Bruce's coaxings, was to emit angry 
explosions that frightened the girls half out 
of their wits. 


186 


IN NEW TORK 187 

“You don’t need to ‘whoa’ your forty 
horses any more,” Faith observed, with a 
touch of her normal spirits. “ Do you think 
they will stand here without hitching ? ” 

Bruce looked at her with a rueful face. 

“ I’m up against it,” he confessed. " I’ll 
hear from my dad, you can bet I But you 
girls had better jump on the train and ride 
into New York. I’ll manage things some- 
how.” 

“ The idea ! ” exclaimed Betty. “ And 
leave you here alone! ” 

“ Of course not ! ” agreed Rita. “ Wouldn’t 
we be fine girls to do that?” 

“We’ll stay; indeed we will,” said Faith. 
Esther made the point unanimous. 

The conductor offered to take them, but 
they stood united in the refusal ; so he took 
their names, because he said the rules of the 
company required it. He also set down the 
number of the automobile. Then the train 
rolled away, many of the passengers waving 
handkerchiefs at the girls down there in the 


1 88 


FAITH PALMER 


ditch. With rather melancholy faces they let 
their own handkerchiefs flutter for a minute 
in return. 

“ You might better have gone / 7 said Bruce ; 
“ but you were bricks, to stand by a fellow. 
I don’t know just how I’d have managed 
things here by myself. If I left the car to go 
for help, some kind gentleman no doubt would 
have stolen all the robes — and I suppose they 
are worth quite a bit of money ; and probably 
some other kind friend would have taken 
the lamps ; and somebody else the tools, et 
cetera. 

“ Now I’ll tell you the best thing to do,” 
he continued. “ There’s a trolley line that 
runs a mile and a half from here, over there 
to the west. It’s about the only chance you 
have of getting back to New York, anyway. 
Probably you’ll not have to go far on the 
trolley before you strike a telephone, and you 
can drop off, wait for the next car, and call up 
the 'Bridge’ garage in Jamaica. Tell them 
to send a good strong towing-car out here as 


IN NEW YORK 189 

soon as they can, with two or three men to 

help get us off the railroad. And say ” 

Bruce hesitated and looked rather sickly for a 
moment. “ Say,” he went on, with a feeble 
grin, “ maybe you’d better call up my house. 
Tell mother we’re all right, and ask her to 
send — send the chauffeur out to Jamaica with 
the runabout. Maybe he can help fix up the 
big car so we can get it home.” 

There was a little silence. Then Rita said, 
rather pertly : “ Chauffeurs aren’t so bad some- 
times — are they ? ” 

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You’d better hike along,” he said, looking 
at his watch. “ If you start now and make 
good trolley connections you’ll probably strike 
the elevated railroad in Brooklyn in about an 
hour and a half. Then in twenty minutes 
you’ll be at Park Row, and you can get a taxi- 
cab up to Delmonico’s. You ought to get 
there by a quarter past two.” 

“ An hour and a quarter late I ” pouted 
Betty. “ But I suppose we ought to be thank- 


FAITH PALMER 


190 

ful to get there at all. We’ll have to call 
Kathryn on the ’phone and tell her, or she’ll 
be dreadfully worried.” 

They took their farewells, and Rita saucily 
observed, just before they started : 

“ We’ve had a lovely ride, Mr. Worthing- 
ton ; thank you ever and ever so much.” 

“ We’ve all had a splendid time,” added 
Betty. There was a suggestion of mockery 
in her tones. “ I do hope you’ll invite us 
again.” 

But Faith was more considerate. 

“ I think you were wonderfully brave,” she 
said. “ If you hadn’t been, I suppose every 
one of us would have been dead this minute, 
and the automobile smashed to splinters ; and 
the newspapers would have our pictures — and 
— and I don’t see how you ever managed to 
think how to do it so quickly ! ” 

“ I hope you’ll tell that to my dad,” said 
Bruce. “ If you don’t, I suppose he’ll cut off 
all my spending money for six months and 
trim me down to a common boarding-house 


IN NEW TORK 


191 

up at New Haven, and spoil all the fun I’ve 
planned for the winter. Say ! ” he went on. 
“ I wish you four girls could come up home 
for dinner to-night ! Mother’d be glad to have 


“ Your invitation is too late,” Betty told 
him. “ Mr. Love’s limousine is to call for us 
at six o’clock, for I told you last night that we 
were to dine at Kathryn’s house and then go 
to the theater. But we’ll write to your 
father — won’t we, girls ? — and tell him that 
you really did behave like a brave boy ; and 
we’re proud of you ; and he mustn’t cut off 
your allowance or put you into a bad board- 
ing-house or spoil your fun, or do anything at 
all to you, because you saved all our lives. 
We’ll write the letter this very afternoon and 
send it by special delivery, and every one of 
us will sign it — won’t we, girls ? ” 

“ Every one of us ! ” Faith, Rita and 
Esther happened to say this in unison. 

They followed Bruce’s directions and cut 
across a stretch of open ground to a road ; 


FAITH PALMER 


192 

and then, walking briskly, they made for the 
trolley line. It was a road that was much out 
of repair and quite muddy in places, and be- 
fore long their shoes were in deplorable condi- 
tion and their skirts and coats spattered. 

“ If only some friendly car would happen 
along ! ” wailed Betty. 

Esther looked back, even as Betty spoke. 

“ Something’s coming,” she said. “ It’s an 
automobile, but it may not be friendly. Au- 
tomobiles aren’t very friendly, as a rule ; at 
least, not here in the East. Where I live in 
Nevada, almost any car would go out of its 
way to give somebody a lift ; but in New York 
the automobiles run over people’s hats and 
don’t even stop.” 

“ And over people, too,” supplied Betty. 

They could hear the chugging of the ap- 
proaching car, but for a minute it had disap- 
peared back of some trees. When it emerged 
it was headed straight for them, and it really 
looked as if it intended to run over them if 
they didn’t get out of the way. It was a big 


IN NEW YORK 


193 

car, with a chauffeur in front and two women 
in the capacious back seat. 

Honk, honk ! 

The girls jumped aside just in time, Faith 
and Rita on one side of the road and Esther 
and Betty on the other. Faith landed in the 
very middle of a mud-puddle, and felt the 
slimy water oozing into one shoe. Betty went 
down on one knee in the dirt. 

“ Of all things ! ” cried Rita, in hot indig- 
nation. “ Did any one ever see such impu- 
dence ? ” 

“ The wretches ! ” exclaimed Esther, her 
eyes blazing. 

“ Oh, oh-h ! if only I had those people by 
the neck I’d twist and twist and twis-s-st ! ” 
was Betty’s contribution to the general wrath. 

Faith was still standing in the mud-puddle, 
gazing after the vanishing car. 

“ For mercy sake, Faith Palmer,” Betty 
cried, “get out of that pool of ink! — Why, 
what’s the matter? ” 

There was a singular look on Faith’s face. 


FAITH PALMER 


194 

She stepped on to dry ground. Then she 
pointed in the direction the car had gone. 

“ Do you know whose car that was ? ” 

“ Whose ? ” they all asked. 

“ The Lanes’ ! And that was Prudence and 
her mother in the back seat ! ” 

The four girls stood regarding one another 
in fresh surprise, which changed very rapidly 
into vigorous resentment toward the Lanes, of 
whom Faith had told her three companions. 

“ Are you sure ? ” Betty demanded. 

“ Positive. Furthermore, they recognized 
me. I caught Mrs. Lane’s eye as they shot 
past. Oh, the vixen ! How in the world 
Prudence came to have such a mother is more 
than I can understand — and such a pretty 
girl, too ! ” 

“ I shouldn’t call her pretty, even if she 
were a Venus,” Betty declared. “ She isn’t 
pretty — she can’t be ! No girl could be pretty 
and try to run down four other girls, and then 
go by like a railroad train without stopping 
to see if any one was hurt ! ” 


IN NEW TORE 


195 

“And without asking us if we wanted a 
ride ! ” said Esther. 

“ Especially after she had recognized us — 
or, at least, recognized Faith ! ” snapped Rita. 

It took them several minutes to get their 
breath and composure back, and then they 
went along on their way, walking faster than 
ever to make up for the time they had lost. 
The things they said about the Lanes, as they 
walked, would have made the ears of Miss 
Prudence and her mother tingle could they 
have heard. Nor did Papa Lane escape. 

When they came within a few hundred 
yards of the tracks, a trolley car dashed out of 
a cut, going at full speed in the direction they 
wanted to go. 

“ Run, girls, run ! ” shouted Esther, and 
was off in a mad dash to catch the car. She 
was athletic and could do things of this sort 
in an emergency. She ran like a professional 
and gained the track just in time to jump into 
the middle of it and wave her arms like a 
jumping-jack for it to stop. 


196 FAITH PALMER 

The motorman probably had been enjoying 
the sprint, after the fashion of motormen, and 
probably contemplated going along merrily on 
his way without undergoing the inconvenience 
of stopping. But now, confronted by the 
apparent alternative of running over a young 
lady, he executed some quick maneuvers and 
the car came to a sudden standstill. In this 
he was more considerate than the Lane chauf- 
feur had been. 

“ Come on, girls — run ! ” cried Esther. 
“ I’ll hold the car — only run ! ” 

As if they weren’t running ! 

“ I could — couldn’t run any fast — faster if 
I nev — never caught an old car ! ” panted 
Betty, who came in second best, her hair fall- 
ing down her back and a fur collar trailing 
along in the dirt behind her. 

“ Oh, I — I’ve breathed up all — all the air ! ” 
gasped Faith, who arrived next, her hat askew 
and her heavy coat half off one shoulder. 

As for poor Rita, who finished about a 
minute behind Faith, she had nothing to say 


IN NEW YORK 


197 

— for the reason that her saying powers were, 
for the time being, out of commission. 

The conductor obligingly reached down 
from the back platform and helped the four 
of them aboard ; and they sat limp and list- 
less, not caring what the other passengers 
thought of them. 

But presently they came to some scattering 
houses and stores, and Faith suddenly re- 
membered. 

“ Oh, girls ! ” she said, sitting straight up. 
“ The telephone ! ” 

The car had started, but they cornered the 
conductor and made him stop it ; and off they 
flopped, leaving the onlookers to guess as they 
chose. 

They had plenty of time to send all the 
messages, and fifteen minutes to spare, before 
the next car came along. After that the ride 
seemed endless, but they reached the “ L ” at 
last ; and finally Park Row, at the Manhattan 
terminus of Brooklyn Bridge ; and ultimately 
emerged from a taxicab in front of the Del- 


198 FAITH PALMER 

monico establishment on Fifth Avenue. It 
was ten minutes to three. 

Then, a minute later, in a reception-room 
of soft magnificence, they confronted Miss 
Kathryn Love — a guest for the luncheon and 
their hostess for dinner later on. A most 
wondrous young lady she was. Kathryn was 
growing more beautiful every day, people said. 
Like Rita, she was very much of a brunette, 
with a perfect skin and very black eyes and 
hair. But Kathryn was almost a head taller 
than Rita, and quite imposing. She was 
nearly as tall as Esther ; but the latter never 
had been especially graceful, while Kathryn 
possessed a subtle ease that marked every 
movement and gave her a distinction all her 
own. Some day, her admirers said, she would 
be a veritable queen in society. As yet she 
was only eighteen. She looked twenty in her 
close-fitting dress of Russian green velvet. 

“ Oh, Kathryn ! ” cried Betty — these two 
girls were roommates and chums at Fordyce 
Hall — “ oh, Kathryn, we look like frights, 


IN NEW YORK 


199 

I know, but we’re alive, thank Prov- 
idence I We’re alive, if we are torn to pieces 
and covered with mud and half dead from 
excitement, and nearly starved. And we got 
here just as soon as we could, and it isn’t our 
fault if we are two hours late.” 

“ Of all the awful rides ! ” cried Rita. “ I 
shall never go out with that boy again — never. 
Bumpty bump down a railroad track with an 
engine chasing us at a hundred and fifty 
miles an hour. Bumpty pumty, rackity 
backity ” 

“ Especially 4 backity’ I ” interrupted Esther. 
“ My back feels like it this minute.” 

“But the engine might have jarred your back 
worse,” said Faith, rising to Bruce’s defense. 

“ Well,” resumed Betty, “ we didn’t tell you 
all of it over the ’phone, Kathryn. We were 
not only chased by an engine, but almost run 
into by an automobile — after we’d got away 
from the engine and were hiking home on our 
feet. And whose automobile do you suppose 
it was ? ” 


200 


FAITH PALMER 


Kathryn guessed half a dozen, and then 
gave it up. Betty told her ; and all the girls 
sat down and looked at each other. 

“ Something has got to be done to those 
Lanes,” Kathryn observed. “ I propose that 
we all call on them in a body to-morrow 
morning and tell them, in plain English, 
what we think of them.” 

There were vociferous approvals ; but Faith 
jumped to her feet. 

“No,” she said ; “ please don’t do anything 
of the sort. That would be dreadful. Let’s 
forget them.” 

“ Well,” said Esther, more philosophically, 
“let’s fix ourselves up as best we can, girls, 
and we’ll have just a little something to eat.” 

“Yes,” said Betty; “and then we must 
hurry back to the house-party headquarters 
and put on our duds for the dinner festivities. 
It’s a gay life here in New York.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE MAN IN THE LOBBY 

It was a quarter past eleven that night 
when the house-party alighted from the Love 
automobile, which had brought the four girls 
home from the theater. Four very tired girls 
they were, too. 

To Faith the day seemed a strange and 
weird dream, now that it was at last over. 
She never remembered a day in which so 
much had happened. Surely, she reflected, 
enough had occurred without the dinner at 
the Love mansion on Madison Avenue and 
the play afterward ; but when these events 
were added, the whole made her almost dizzy 
in the contemplation. 

And certainly the contrasts had been gro- 
tesque. As the limousine brought them home 
from the theater, Faith had mentally run 

through some of them. Perhaps the contrast 
201 


202 


FAITH PALMER 


that struck her most forcibly lay in the chasm 
separating the Ghetto from Kathryn’s won- 
derful home. She pictured it now, this lux- 
urious palace, and she could not even think 
of it without having a sense of height and 
richness and shimmering lights. She recalled 
it, in her weariness, chiefly in confused mem- 
ories of carven panels, brocaded seats, tapes- 
tries, and polished floors. Of course Faith 
had visited Kathryn Love before ; but on 
previous occasions the contrast had been lack- 
ing, for she hadn’t seen the Ghetto until that 
very day. She had not imagined people could 
live in such herds or in such places. 

Kathryn waved them good-by as the auto 
rolled away, for she had come out with them 
from the playhouse. Then they turned and 
climbed the steps into the Morningside Apart- 
ment Building. 

“ I do wish I had somebody to lift my feet 
for me,” groaned Betty, as she half staggered 
through the double door, which Esther held 
open for her. 


IN NEW YORK 


203 

“ You might as well make it worth while,” 
suggested Rita, “and wish you had a kind 
fairy to carry not only your feet, but the rest 
of you. But of course it would require quite 
a good-sized fairy — you’re so roly-poly, you 
know.” 

“ It wouldn’t take much of one to carry 
you,” retorted Betty. “ Any little old runt 
of a fairy could do it.” 

“ But I don’t see where that hall-boy is,” 
remarked Faith. “ He is supposed to stay 
here till midnight and open the door for 
people and help if any one needs him. Dear 
me, I can scarcely carry myself, not to men- 
tion this heavy coat and these furs.” 

Very white and worn Faith did look — but 
charming, nevertheless, in her white velvet 
evening coat. Aunt Abigail had got it for 
her expressly for the Love dinner and theater 
party, for the old lady, having made up her 
mind back in Chester that her grandniece 
should dress quite up to the Palmer station, 
clung grimly to this determination. Miss 


FAITH PALMER 


204 

Abigail detested “ show " as much as she ever 
had, and would allow no idle display in 
Faith's attire ; but the girl had clothes that 
were “ fit for her," as her aunt said. Yes, sure 
enough, she did have, and plenty of them. 
She often wondered if she herself were really 
fit for all the money the old ladies lavished 
upon her, and for all the undemonstrative but 
real affection they continually showed for 
her. 

“ I've not reached the 1 last straw ' stage of 
fatigue by any means," Esther informed them. 
“ Here, let me take your furs and wraps, 
girls ; oh, I can carry them all easily enough. 
Why " 

Suddenly they all stopped short in the 
middle of the lobby, for a man rose up from 
somewhere, like one of those mysterious fig- 
ures that come and go so amazingly in mo- 
tion pictures. And now they saw that the 
colored hall-boy was asleep at the switch — 
the telephone switch — in the corner. 

“ I beg pardon," said the stranger, remov- 


IN NEW TORK 


205 

ing his hat with politeness ; “ I beg pardon ; 
are you Miss Faith Palmer ? ” 

He bowed before Rita Maxon. 

“ No,” said Rita, “ I'm not." Then she 
added, on second thought : 

“ But of course I should like to be." 

The man fell back a step, perhaps confused 
a trifle, and surveyed the other three girls as 
if in doubt which one to address. No one 
could have accused him of being an ogre ; 
indeed, he was quite the reverse. Instead of 
being old and ugly and like a Bluebeard, he 
was young and rather good looking. More- 
over, he was even foppishly dressed. 

Faith herself saved him the annoyance of 
questioning each by turn. 

“ I am Faith Palmer," she said, regarding 
him with some wonder. 

“ Ah ! " His eyebrows went up just a little 
in a pleased expression, as his eyes sought her 
winsome countenance. “ I have been wait- 
ing here in the lobby quite a while to see 
you, Miss Palmer ; and, of course, to see your 


206 


FAITH PALMER 


friends, too. Let me see — I believe there is 
a Miss Esther Kendall of Vassar; and a Miss 
Betty Fairchild and a Miss Rita Maxon, both 
from Fordyce Hall, on the Hudson.” 

The girls began to be just a little fright- 
ened. Betty commenced to wonder if she had 
committed any crime for which she might be 
lodged in prison ; and Rita, as she afterward 
confessed, tried to peek under the lapel of the 
man’s coat for a possible glimpse of a sheriff’s 
badge. 

“ You seem to know us all, by name, pretty 
well,” said Faith. “ I am sure we — we’ll try 
to — to help you, sir, if you want help ” 

She stopped, not knowing what more to say. 
Very glad indeed was she that the other girls 
were there with her. 

The young man laughed slightly. 

“ Which of the young ladies is Miss Ken- 
dall?” he asked; “ and which is Miss Fair- 
child?” 

“ Will you kindly explain what you want 
of me ? ” demanded Esther. “ I am Miss 


IN NEW TORK 


207 

Kendall, and here is Miss Fairchild.” She 
touched Betty on the arm. “ Now that we 
have introduced ourselves, be good enough to 
make yourself known. 1 ” 

Esther oould talk like this when she ehose, 
and she did it very nicely. 

“ Thank you,” said the stranger. “ I'll in- 
troduce myself — but just excuse me a mo- 
ment.” 

Suddenly he stepped to one side, and in- 
stantly there was a blinding flash in their 
very faces. It was so quick that before they 
could move it was gone. 

All the girls screamed at once. 

“ Mercy ! ” cried Esther, as a suffocating 
cloud of smoke floated upon them. “ A flash- 
light ! Girls, they’ve taken our pictures ! ” 

Then they saw the photographer emerge 
from behind a pillar, and the whole affair 
was clear to them. Some newspaper had 
tricked them into identifying themselves in- 
dividually, and then into posing, and the 
whole automobile episode of the day was to 


208 


FAITH PALMER 


be in print, along with their pictures. Doubt- 
less the reporters had bribed the hall-boy to 
go to sleep, and 

“ Oh, how could you be so mean ? ” Betty 
cried, confronting the handsome young man 
through the thick vapor of the flash-light. 
“ If my brother were here, he — he’d ” 

“If Bruce Worthington were here,” broke 
in Faith, “ he’d smash up the camera, pictures 
and all.” 

“ It was a beautiful pose,” said the young 
gentleman ; “ and I’m sure you’ll like it. 
However, I’m sorry it had to be done, since 
you object ; but it’s part of the game. The 
newspapers must have pictures, and they have 
to get them the best way they can. I might 
have explained the matter in advance and 
asked your permission, only I was afraid I’d 
have to argue it, and the hour is very late. 
Now tell me about it, won’t you — about that 
wild ride down the railroad track ? ” 

“ Not a word I ” snapped Esther. 

“ Not one solitary syllable ! ” agreed Betty. 


IN NEW YORK 


209 


“ Never 1 ” said Rita, very firmly. 

Faith added a decided negative of some 
sort, but the newspaper man was bland, even 
in the face of all this indignation. 

“ Very well,” he said. “ Of course I'd like 
your version of it, young ladies, and I'm sure 
it would help the story very much ; but I 
have a rather full account from other sources. 
I’ve got the engineer’s story, and the conduct- 
or’s, and something from Bruce Worthing- 
ton.” 

“ What did he say? ” inquired Betty. 

“ Not much — to tell the truth, very little. 
He seems to be a very modest young man. 
It’ll be something of a one-sided story ; but 
I’ve done all I can to give his side of it. Well, 
I think I’ll have to be go ” 

“ His side of it? ” broke in Faith. “ What 
other side could there be ? ” 

The newspaper man paused. He was wise 
enough to know that he would get his inter- 
view with the young ladies. 

“ His side of it? ” echoed Rita. 


210 


FAITH PALMER 


“ Why, it was the bravest thing any one 
ever did ! ” Faith exclaimed, her cheeks 
glowing. She had forgotten about being tired. 
“ It was the most wonderful thing ! How 
could there be more than one side to it ? 77 
“ Don’t you dare say there was I ” warned 
Betty, to the young man. i 

“ He saved all our lives,” said Esther ; 
“ saved every one of us, and if that old en- 
gineer says that he was the one who did it, 
why ” 

“ The wretch ! ” cried Betty. 

“ The engineer tried to kill us 1 ” vouch- 
safed Rita, in some wrath. “ He ran his old 
engine as fast as ever he could after us, and 
almost caught us, and — and I’m sure he would 
have caught us if he could.” 

“ But Bruce was too much for him,” Faith 
asserted, with triumph in her brown eyes — 
and perhaps some pardonable pride for Bruce 
himself. “ If that old engineer could run his 
engine half as well as Bruce ran the automo- 
bile, there wouldn’t be so many railroad 


IN NEW TORK 


21 I 


wrecks and people killed and horrible things. 
It wasn't his fault that people weren't killed 

to-day Ugh ! I can see him now, back 

of his window, when he was chasing us. He 
was one of the ugliest men I ever saw." 

“The mean old greasy-faced thing!" ex- 
ploded Rita. 

“ And now," said Esther, “ he dares to make 
insinuations against Bruce ! " 

“ Girls," declared Faith, “ we’ve got to tell 
the whole story ourselves, if we want it 
straight in the newspaper to-morrow." 

Then, suddenly remembering something, 
she huddled all the girls close to her and 
whispered in their ears : 

“ Only don't breathe a word about the left- 
behind chauffeur, or about the twenty miles 
an hour we were supposed to go." 

“ Not one single whisper about it," agreed 
Betty ; and they all acquiesced. 

So the newspaper man got a most beautiful 
interview, in a four-part medley that was punc- 
tuated copiously with dashes and exclamation 


212 


FAITH PALMER 


points, and was full of interrupted sentences, 
and sometimes a bit tangled. Through it all 
Mr. Bruce Worthington figured as a gallant, a 
wit, and a hero of heroes. 

It was the most spirited, delightful in- 
terview — so old newspaper readers said next 
day — that had ever appeared in a New York 
daily. And it pictured, in the most graphic 
of word photography, four amazingly charm- 
ing girls. 

As for the photograph itself — well, that was 
good ; it showed four very sweet and pretty 
girls, but they seemed rather sober, even 
frightened. 


CHAPTER XV 


UP THE FIRE-ESCAPE 

The house-party was over and all the 
girls were back at their studies — Esther at 
Vassar, Betty and Rita at Fordyce Hall, and 
Faith hard at work in the Morningside School 
of Domestic Arts. But Faith was very lonely, 
and wished that house-parties might come 
every week. 

It did seem as if the very bottom had 
dropped out of New York ! 

“ How ridiculous of me to say so,” Faith 
remarked to her Aunt Deborah one evening, 
when Miss Abigail was lying down in her 
bedroom and the two were alone in the living- 
room. “ I know it seems strange that I make 
such a fuss over three girls, when there are 
thousands and hundreds of thousands of 

others almost within reach of my arm. I 
213 


FAITH PALMER 


214 

might get acquainted, I suppose, and know a 
great many, if I really went about it ; but that 
isn’t the way one wants to get acquainted, is 
it, auntie? It’s the people one doesn’t intend 
to meet, but does meet by accident or in one 
way or another, who are interesting. They 
are the people one wants to know.” 

“ I have heard,” observed Aunt Deborah, 
“ that it is difficult to break into New York 
society.” 

The old lady smiled at Faith and went on 
with her sewing. 

The girl heaved a sigh. She sat for a time 
with her book in her lap, reflecting. Then 
she asked, rather abruptly : 

“ Auntie, didn’t you ever, in all your life, 
have jolly times with the boys and girls? 
And didn’t Aunt Abigail ? ” 

Miss Deborah dropped her needle and got 
down on her knees to look for it, but Faith 
picked it out of the mending her aunt had 
been doing. 

“ I declare, my eyes are getting wretched ! ” 


IN NEW TORK 


21 5 

sighed Miss Deborah, as she resumed her seat 
and her work. 

“But didn’t you, Aunt Debby?” Faith 
reminded. 

Miss Deborah put down the sewing this time 
and sat looking at the gas-log that stood for a 
fireplace. It wasn’t lighted, however, for Miss 
Abigail considered the expenses high enough 
without burning up gas, as she expressed it, in 
a good-for-nothing contrivance that wasn’t a 
grate at all, and whose only purpose was to 
help enrich somebody in New York — she 
didn’t know or care who. But now Miss 
Deborah looked at it, much as she might 
have looked at the big log fire at home when 
she wanted to gaze far, far back into the past. 

“ Girls should not ask such questions,” she 
returned, after a long wait, during which her 
grandniece watched her patiently from the 
uncomfortable chair at the other side of the 
little mahogany table. 

“ Why, it’s because I’m a girl that I ask ! ” 
Faith exclaimed. “ Of course, I’ve asked you 


2l6 


FAITH PALMER 


before, and you’d never tell ; but now I do 
wish you would.” 

“ Why do you wish to know now, espe- 
cially ? ” 

The old lady was doing the questioning 
herself, not the answering. 

“ Well, just because ! ” 

There was a slight flush in Faith’s cheeks, 
and her eyes were a trifle brighter than they 
had been. 

“ ‘ Because ’ is no reason,” said Aunt Deb- 
orah. “And really, child, I wish you 
wouldn’t bother yourself with such ideas. 
What possible difference can it make whether 
two worn-out old women like your Aunt 
Abigail and me ever had jolly times? Of 
what possible ” 

“ But did you ? ” Faith persisted, laughing. 

Aunt Deborah turned partly in her chair 
and looked across at the girl. They presented 
a wonderful contrast, this pair, the one so 
marked with time and the other so fresh and 
half-blown and airy. It often seemed as if a 


IN NEW TORK 217 

zephyr might float in at a window and carry 
Faith off with it. 

“ I hope/' said Miss Deborah, “ that you are 
not becoming frivolous, as your Aunt Abigail 
says. I trust you are not thinking too much 
of mere pleasures. What do you mean by 
4 jolly times ’? ” 

Faith hesitated, and Aunt Deborah regarded 
her rather keenly. 

44 I hope, child/’ she said, “ that you con- 
template nothing that you are afraid to tell 
your Aunt Debby about.” 

Faith came around the table and put her 
arms about her ancient relative’s neck. 

44 As if I could be afraid of Aunt Debby ! ” 
she laughed. 44 It’s Aunt Abigail I’m afraid 
of — only I’m not much afraid of her any 
more. I’ll tell you what I’m thinking of, 
auntie. Bruce Worthington says he’s going 
to call on me next Saturday evening, even if 
he has to come up the fire-escape. You know 
I’ve never had a young gentleman call on me 
— just me alone I I’m afraid Aunt Abigail 


2l8 


FAITH PALMER 


won't let him in at the door, and that he 
really will come up the fire-escape ! She 
doesn’t approve of boys, you know ; and since 
that dreadful automobile ride she will not let 
me speak of him. What am I going to do, 
Aunt Debby ? What can I do ? ” 

Miss Deborah looked very serious. 

“ Bruce is a rash boy,” she said ; “ he is 
quite as adventuresome as Betty’s brother 
Bancroft. Abigail has always disapproved of 
Bancroft, and she feels the same toward Bruce. 
Both of those boys have come near being the 
death of you, Faith ; and both with automo- 
biles I ” 

“ But they never will again, auntie — 
never ! ” Faith assured her. “ They have 
promised, really and truly, cross their hearts ! 
Bruce says he’ll never cross a railroad track 
again without stopping and looking and lis- 
tening. And he’ll never disobey his mother 
again and run away without a chauffeur when 
she has told him to take one. But really, 
auntie, don’t you think he might call ? ” 


IN NEW TORK 


219 

She put her face down against the old 
lady’s. 

“ It's not that I care especially for Bruce/* 
she went on, with a little laugh to emphasize 
the disclaimer. “ Of course not. But I’m a 
young lady — oh, don’t say I’m not ! — and it 
really seems as if I shouldn’t be obliged to 
make young gentlemen climb up eleven 
stories of fire-escapes just for one little in- 
formal evening call ! ” 

Miss Deborah’s lips twitched and her old 
eyes twinkled. 

“ Faith Palmer,” she said, “ you are a most 
curious girl. But I suppose I shall have to 
get your Aunt Abigail cornered the first thing 
in the morning and see what I can do with 
her. She is very obstinate this evening, 
Faith, and I think we’d better leave her 
alone. Abigail is old, remember — she’s 
eighty-four ! ” 

“ Yes, we’ll let her sleep to-night,” agreed 
Faith. “ I think she’s homesick — poor old 
Aunt Abigail ! I wish you and she were 


220 


FAITH PALMER 


eighteen years old again, auntie — what a jolly 
lot of girls we would be I But I think 111 
run into my room and write a line to Bruce 
at Yale, saying he can come by the front way 
— thanks to Aunt Debby.” 

“ I think I should wait,” said Miss De- 
borah, “ until to-morrow.” 

“ No,” answered Faith, quickly ; “ the letter 
might not get to him then, for to-morrow is 
Friday, you know, and he comes home Friday 
afternoon. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be able 
to fix it all right with Aunt Abigail ; and if 
you shouldn’t, why, I’ll really have to speak 
to her myself. I’d much rather you’d do it, 
auntie, because Aunt Abigail is so dreadfully 
angry with Bruce over that automobile affair, 
and — and over the newspaper account. But 
really, the newspaper article wasn’t so bad — 
was it ? It said we girls were all — all so as- 
tonishingly beautiful, and Bruce such a brave 
young man — and the railroad ought to have 
had gates at the crossing. I think the news- 
paper was just perfectly lovely about it, and I 


IN NEW YORK 


221 


really don’t see why Aunt Abigail should 
despise Bruce and hate him so.” 

Then she lowered her voice, bestowed an 
arch look at her aunt, and observed confi- 
dentially : 

“ Only I don’t believe Aunt Abigail really 
does despise him and hate him — she just 
makes believe she does — so there I ” 

Then she went out to write to Bruce ; but a 
moment later she came back. 

“ I forgot to tell you,” she said, “that I’ve 
made up my mind to run in and see Brenda 
Castle on Saturday, when I do that shopping 
for you and Aunt Abigail. You know she is 
the girl who offered to loan me money to get 
home with the day my pocketbook was picked 
by that rascally boy. She was so nice and 
obliging to me, auntie, that I feel as if I 
ought to acknowledge it in some way. How 
would it do to take her some flowers — just 
half a dozen chrysanthemums or something 
like that? ” 

“ I should think the flowers would be a 


222 FAITH PALMER 

very graceful acknowledgment,” agreed Aunt 
Deborah. “ Only do be cautious, Faith, about 
making her acquaintance ! You know what 
your Aunt Abigail says — and you’ve had a 
very good object lesson in this Lane girl, right 
here in the building.” 

Faith was silent. There was something about 
Prudence Lane that was still a mystery to 
her. That night she dreamed about Prudence. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A COOKING LESSON 

Faith took her aunts down to the School of 
Domestic Arts next day, and Aunt Abigail 
was not altogether pleased with what she saw. 

“ I can cook without so much fuss and 
feathers,” she observed. 

“ Well,” returned Faith, somewhat archly, 
“ it is necessary in school, auntie, to have 
more fuss than one would really have at 
home, and a good many more feathers, too. 
That is how we learn to do things.” 

“ I never had a piece of marble on which to 
make pie,” said the old lady, with some sar- 
casm. “ Neither did Deborah.” 

Aunt Deborah looked rather pained at this 
unfavorable comment on Faith's school. She 
was always pained at criticism of any sort — 
it didn't make much difference what the sub- 
ject of it might be. 

223 


224 


FAITH PALMER 


“ Abigail,” she said, mildly, “ times have 
changed, you know.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Miss Abigail ; “ this is the 
marble age, as I am well aware. In my 
youth we got along without marble, and I 
have dispensed with it all my life. I never 
knew a person in Chester to refuse a piece of 
Palmer pie because it had not been made on a 
marble slab.” 

“ Of course not ! ” laughed Faith, and some 
of the girls who were near joined, to Aunt 
Abigail’s displeasure. “ Of course not ! ” re- 
peated Faith. “ Good reason why nobody ever 
refused a piece of Palmer pie ! You and Aunt 
Deborah could make delicious pies if you had 
nothing but a shingle on which to make them. 
But my cooking teacher says that old-fash- 
ioned cooking is almost a lost art.” 

“ And will remain a lost art unless girls do 
more cooking at home, instead of gallivanting 
about the country to play at cooking in 
schools.” 

“ Abigail,” said Aunt Deborah, “ you have 


IN NEW YORK 


225 

always been in favor of sending Faith to 
schools.” 

“ I have,” admitted her sister. “ There is 
much good to be gained from schools, or I 
should not have permitted Faith to attend 
them. But schools can never take the place 
of home training.” 

“ No, indeed,” assented Faith. 

“ I am in favor of sensible, practical schools, 
and I had supposed this was one of them,” 
Aunt Abigail went on. “ But when I see such 
folderols as marble slabs I must doubt it.” 

“ Abigail I ” ventured Aunt Deborah. 

But Faith merely took Aunt Abigail along 
by the arm. She knew the old lady’s feet hurt 
her dreadfully that morning, so that she 
wasn’t to be blamed for taking it out on the 
things that displeased her. 

They were in a great oblong room, with 
gas ovens, electric cookers, tiled walls, cabi- 
nets, and an endless array of pots, pans and 
utensils of curious shapes and sizes. There 
were long, immaculate sinks, many tables 


226 


FAITH PALMER 


that bore a medley of food materials and 
cooking appliances, and here and there little 
rubber-wheeled stands laden with supplies. 

“ Isn’t it a wonderful kitchen ? ” asked 
Faith, admiringly. 

It was, and Aunt Abigail had never seen 
anything like it ; but she was too old and too 
confirmed in her ways to fall in readily with 
this scheme of things. 

“ It is very unique,” she admitted. 

“ And very interesting, Abigail,” added 
Aunt Deborah. 

“ It is not economical,” observed Miss Abi- 
gail, “ whatever else it may be. I fear Faith 
will learn extravagant habits here, Deborah. 
While the cooking lessons themselves are 
undoubtedly good, the means employed are 
wasteful. Too much money has been expended 
in making this kitchen attractive, even lux- 
urious. Who ever saw such a kitchen in real 
life?” 

“But there ought to be such kitchens I” 
spoke up Faith, quickly. “ Of course a home 


IN NEW TORK 


22 7 

kitchen would be ever and ever so much 
smaller, but it ought to be constructed like 
this one, and arranged like it — that is, in a 
general way. Auntie, that is something I 
mean to talk to you about when we get back 
home to Chester. Our kitchen, you know, is 
in need of repairs, and while we are about it, 
auntie, don’t you think we might make it 
more convenient, and easier for your poor old 
feet?” 

“ I want no play kitchen at Chester,” said 
Aunt Abigail. 

“ No, auntie ; a real work kitchen, and one 
that will save us ever so many steps. But 
we’ll not talk about it now. Here’s a chair. 
Just sit down and watch the girls make the 
pies.” 

So Aunt Abigail, with critical eyes, sat 
and watched. 

The flour had to be sifted a certain number 
of times, the lard was required to be of a 
certain consistency so that it could be cut into 
the flour, and the salt was carefully measured. 


228 


FAITH PALMER 


Miss Abigail never sifted her flour more than 
once ; and no matter how hard or soft the lard 
might be, she never thought it possible to use 
anything except her hands for the mixing. 
But here were machines for that purpose. 

After the flour, lard and salt had been 
thoroughly mixed, ice-water was gradually 
added until a specified quantity had been 
used, and then the crust was ready for the 
marble slab. This, Faith explained, had been 
chilled previously, to prevent the crust from 
getting soft. Now the filling, of sliced apples, 
came along, and the quantity for each pie was 
carefully measured. Equal precision was used 
with the sugar and spices. Then, when the 
top crust had been rolled in strict accordance 
with directions, the pies were ready for the 
ovens. Every move was made with deft and 
dainty fingers, under the eyes of the instruct- 
ress, who delivered a running lecture mean- 
while. 

While the baking was going on, the girls, 
Faith among them, cleaned the marble slabs, 


IN NEW TORK 


229 

washed and dried the utensils, and laundered 
the dish-towels. 

44 Now,” said Faith, 44 we are going up-stairs 
to the lecture on house decoration and furnish- 
ings. Our lecture to-day is on pictures.” 

“ Pictures are well enough in their place,” 
conceded Miss Abigail. 

44 Yes, but so few persons really know how 
they ought to be hung and grouped and that 
sort of thing. I do wish you could have heard 
the lecture yesterday on draperies.” 

14 We need some new draperies at Chester,” 
said Aunt Deborah. 

44 And I have some of the loveliest ideas I ” 
cried Faith, blithely. 44 Fm eager to get back 
home, so that I can do some of the things Fm 
learning here at school.” 

Aunt Abigail did not look enthusiastic. 

44 Then you know how dingy the wall-paper 
is in our south guest chamber,” the girl con- 
tinued. “Well, I've been learning things 
about wall-paper, too. I’m going to have the 
cutest design in that room ! You see, there’s 


FAITH PALMER 


230 

always a harmony scheme ; and if you don’t 
know about such things, you are almost sure 
to pick out some wall covering that isn’t 
artistically right.” 

“ We have done very well with that wall- 
paper,” said Aunt Abigail. 

“ But wait till you see that room after I’m 
through with it, auntie ! Esther is to have 
that room when she comes to see us, you 
know.” 

“ I have no doubt,” remarked Miss Abigail, 
with just a suspicion of a smile on her lips, 
“ that when we return to Chester you will 
have the whole house done over, in imitation 
of this domestic school.” 

“ No,” answered Faith, laughingly ; “ no, 
only part of it.” 

The old ladies went home at the noon hour, 
and Faith saw them well on the way. She 
did not trust her old aunts alone in New 
York any more than she could help. To her, 
they were just children, to be looked after. 

The old aunts, on their part, considered 


IN NEW TORK 231 

Faith a child. Yet, so Aunt Abigail admitted 
to her sister on the way home, Faith was de- 
veloping character every day they remained 
in the city. 

“ I do not approve of many notions she 
has,” said Miss Abigail, “ but she will make a 
most excellent housekeeper some day if she 
can rid her mind of marble slabs and scales 
for weighing the lard.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


BRENDA CASTLE 

Saturday morning Faith went on quite a 
shopping expedition, to get household sup- 
plies ; and along toward noon she stopped at 
a florist’s and bought six enormous yellow 
chrysanthemums, the very best she could 
find. 

Brenda Castle was just going to luncheon 
when Faith found her. 

“ Oh, what glorious blossoms ! ” she cried. 
“ I never saw such beautiful specimens. For 
me ? Oh, are they really for me ? ” 

“ ril come in another time,” said Faith, a 
little disappointed because her new friend was 
going out. 

“ Won’t you go to lunch with me ? ” Brenda 
asked ; and then something like apprehension 
came in her face. 


232 


IN NEW YORK 


2 33 

“ Of course I have to take my luncheons 
iu a rather inexpensive place,” she added, 
“ and — and I’m afraid you wouldn't find it 
very inviting. But if you’ll come with me, 
I’ll be so glad.” 

“ Of course I’ll go,” returned Faith, bright- 
ening. She was lonely enough to go any- 
where, provided she could have some girl with 
her whom she liked. She did like Brenda 
Castle, although she knew her so slightly. 

They went a block or two through the 
throng of Saturday shoppers, until they came 
to a stairway opening off a side street. And 
up at the top of the stairs they found a cafe- 
teria, as Brenda called it, that interested Faith 
very much. It was exclusively for girls and 
women, and it was evident that most of the 
patrons were sales-girls and stenographers and 
women workers in various capacities of the 
more genteel sort. 

“ You’ll have to wait on yourself,” ex- 
plained Brenda, and picked up a tray. 

Faith did the same, laughing at the idea. 


FAITH PALMER 


234 

“Now just help yourself to anything you 
see on this counter,” Brenda went on. “ These 
salads are very nice, and the puddings, too. 
Then here are pie and cake — or perhaps you'd 
like some cold chicken.” 

Faith selected corn muffins, a glass of milk, 
and charlotte russe, while Brenda took cold 
tongue, potato salad and chocolate. They 
carried these edibles to a table, already well 
filled, and had a nice little chat, although a 
very public one, while they ate. It was all 
very different from the Delmonico luncheon 
she had enjoyed a few days before, and it set 
Faith to thinking more and more about the 
chasms that separate people in New York — 
just chasms of money. Brenda Castle was as 
much entitled to Delmonico’s as were the 
women and girls who ate there, Faith told 
herself. 

Brenda paid for the luncheon as they went 
out. Just ahead of them was a rather pom- 
pous young lady who had a dispute with the 
cashier over the amount of her check. She 


I THINK NEW YORK IS WONDERFUL 


1 1 


■> ■> 





IN NEW YORK 


*3 5 

hadn’t eaten two pieces of pie, she declared, 
but only one. She refused to pay the three 
additional cents. 

Faith and Brenda walked down Broadway 
a few blocks, and back again, for the latter 
still had a few minutes of her nooning. 

“ I think New York is wonderful,” said 
Faith ; “ but it does oppress one so terribly. I 
never really knew what it meant to be lonely 
until I came here, among all these people. 
Isn’t that strange ? What a dreadful tangle 
of lives — and lives that run so close to one 
another, too ! Yet think of it — all these peo- 
ple, and we know nothing at all about any of 
them.” 

Just then an ambulance clanged noisily up 
the street, and other vehicles made haste to 
get out of its way. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Faith. “ I suppose 
somebody has been hurt. Isn’t it a wonder 
we aren’t all killed here in New York ? I ex- 
pect to ride in one of those ‘automobile ambu- 
lances some day ; I just know I shall.” 


236 FAITH PALMER 

“ I hope not,” said Brenda. “ I have lived 
in New York since I was a tiny girl, and I 
never had to ride in one yet.” 

" Do you mean always to live here ? ” in- 
quired Faith. “ Always ? ” 

The other girl smiled, rather melancholy. 

“ * Always ' is a long time, isn't it? ” she re- 
plied. " But I suppose I shall have to live 
here always ; at least, I don't see any prospect 
at present of getting away.” 

“ Queer things happen,” sighed Faith, who 
felt the tone of the other and knew that she 
was not happy. “ One never can tell what 
extraordinary event will suddenly change 
one’s whole life. Two years ago I didn't ex- 
pect ever to live out of California — that was 
where I was born, you know. My mother 
died when I was ever and ever so little, and 
I don't remember her one tiny bit. You see, 
I just had my daddy, and I went to a girls' 
school, and thought I was happy until — until 
my daddy died too.” 

Faith's face was very long for a moment. 


IN NEW YORK 


237 

li Then I came clear across the continent to 
my old grandaunts in Chester, up in New 
England,” she went on. “ They are the only 
relatives I have in the world — at least, all I 
know of. I may have some twentieth or 
thirtieth cousins scattered about ; but they 
aren’t truly relations, are they? Anyway, 
my grandaunts were all I had, and at first 
they didn’t want me.” 

“ Didn’t want you ? ” demanded Brenda, 
incredulously. 

Faith laughed. Her spirits had come back, 
as they always did. 

“ No ; not one bit. They’d never seen me, 
and they hadn’t seen my father for twenty 
years, because — because they had wanted to 
make him a preacher and he had run away 
from the theological seminary. They didn’t 
want to see him after that, his aunts didn’t ; 
and they didn’t want to see me. Anyhow, 
Aunt Abigail didn’t. The old ladies had been 
living alone at the old Palmer homestead — we 
call it 1 The Oaks ’ — for ever and ever so 


238 FAITH PALMER 

many years, with just an old servant named 
Angeline.. Of course they didn’t want to be 
bothered with a little girl — that’s what they 
thought I was — and when I got there I was 
so frightened and homesick that I’d have run 
away and gone straight back to California if 
I’d had the money. I didn’t have any money 
at all, and Aunt Abigail scolded me dread- 
fully because I’d spent dollars and dollars 
in the dining-cars coming from San Fran- 
cisco.” 

“ And your grandaunts want you now ? ” 
asked Brenda, with a good deal of solicitude. 
To be sure, Faith didn’t look as if nobody 
wanted her. Very sweet and attractive she 
was in her brown corduroy suit, brown hat, 
and mink furs. 

Now she laughed and her cheeks showed a 
trace of added color. 

“ Oh, yes, they want me now ! I’m sure I 
don’t know why, unless it’s because they are 
tired of each other’s company and I give them 
a rest. I never have been able to understand 


IN NEW YORK 


239 

just why they changed their minds and 
wanted me ; but they did. Dear me, but I 
cause them trouble enough, and I cost them 
money — why, I haven’t one solitary cent of 
my own, and it’s really appalling the money 
they spend on me.” 

“ You’ll have it all some day, I suppose,” 
said Brenda ; “ so why shouldn’t they spend 
it?” 

“ Yes, I suppose I’ll have it — though I don’t 
want it I I want my dear old aunts. I hope 
they’ll live to be a hundred. That’s why I’m 
trying to learn something practical, Brenda — 
because I’ve got to manage things at * The 
Oaks,’ and take care of my aunts. And I 
don’t mean to shut up the old place and 
draw all the shades and keep it gloomy and 
silent. No, I don’t ! I’m going to have it 
lively and bright, and entertain the girls I 
like, and — things of that sort. And I just 
knew that a winter in New York would help 
me to know how to do things. I’m study- 
ing housekeeping at the Morningside School 


2 4 o FAITH PALMER 

of Domestic Arts — we had ‘ entertaining ' last 
winter up at Fordyce Hall, so I can get along 
here without it. Oh, Fordyce is a lovely 
school, and I learned a great deal there. But 
I think I'm really learning more here. Then, 
too, I like to study the people and the shops 
and the buildings — they all help, I think. I 
was a dreadfully green little girl when I 
landed in Chester; I just didn't know any- 
thing at all. My aunts think I'm a little 
girl yet. But if you had seen * The Oaks ' 
when I went there, and could see the place 
now, I'm sure you would think I’d learned 
something. It was dreadfully old-fashioned, 
you see ; now I've got it partly modernized — 
inside, I mean. I've studied and studied to 
do it, and I'm going to keep on studying un- 
til I get it to suit me. Why, when I went 
there, Brenda, the house was so dreadfully out 
of date and I was so dreadfully ignorant that 
I actually thought my aunts were poor. I 
went secretly and got the McAllister School to 
teach, so that I might help them." 


IN NEW YORK 


241 

Faith paused, and a thoughtful look sud- 
denly came in her eyes. 

“ Brenda,” she asked, “ did you ever teach 
school ? ” 

“ No ; never. I'm sure I couldn't.” 

“ That was what I thought ; but I could, 
and I did. Why ” 

Brenda interrupted with a sudden exclama- 
tion. 

“ Oh, I'm late — I declare I forgot all about 
the store ! You've made me forget every- 
thing, Faith. I wish I could ask you to come 
and see me at home.” 

“ Why can't you ? ” Faith asked. 

The other girl hesitated. Her cheeks red- 
dened. 

“ Well,” she said, “ I might as well tell the 
truth. We live in such a wretched little 
apartment, and so dreadfully high up, with- 
out any elevator, that I'm ashamed to ask 
any one to come. My mother and I are alone, 
you know, and mother isn't very well — and — 
and we have to live within our means.” 


242 


FAITH PALMER 


“ Of course I As if that were any reason 
why I shouldn’t go to see you. I’m only an 
object of charity myself. And when it comes 
to living in a little apartment, and high up — 
wait until you see where I live in New York I ” 

Brenda laughed. 

“ We live in three rooms,” she said ; “and 
you’ll have to climb four flights of stairs. 
But if you’ll come to see me some evening, 
and stay all night if you can, I’ll dearly love 
to have you.” 

She gave an address over east of the Park, 
not far from Third Avenue, and Faith wrote 
it down. 

“ I’ll write you,” she said ; “ and I’ll surely 
go to see you — though I’m afraid Aunt Abi- 
gail won’t let me stay all night. Besides, I 
scarcely think I ought to, you know. I have 
to take care of my aunts. It isn’t as if they 
were at home in ‘ The Oaks.’ There they’d 
have plenty of neighbors to look after them if 
they happened to need help ; but New York 
is so dreadfully exclusive. We don’t know a 


IN NEW YORK 


243 

single one of the fifty families in our build- 
ing — not one. Isn’t that a heathenish way to 
live? I’m going to get acquainted with some 
of them, too — -just for the fun of doing it. I’m 
sure I don’t know how I’m going about it, 
but somehow I’ll do it. Dear me, I’ve talked 
all the time I It’ll be your turn next. Good- 
by, Brenda — I have the address.” 

“ Good-by ! ” said the other, and she felt 
her heart sink a little. “ Good-by ; I’ll surely 
look for you.” 

Perhaps Faith was the sort of girl Brenda 
had longed to have for a friend, but hadn’t 
been able to find in all of New York. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


TOO MUCH NOISE 

That night Leah Churchill came in unex- 
pectedly ; and she hadn’t been there more 
than ten minutes when Bruce Worthington 
came — and with him was Bancroft Fairchild, 
Betty’s brother. This, too, was unexpected, 
though Faith and Leah were glad to see Ban- 
croft ; Faith especially glad, for he had given 
her many a splendid automobile ride up at 
Chester. 

Bancroft was a larger youth than his chum, 
with tangled hair and a big, friendly face, 
full of fun. He was noisier, too, than Bruce ; 
and when he sang a comic song for the girls 
it seemed as if he would lift the ceiling at 
times. Faith accompanied him. She had 
learned the music for some of his songs in 
Chester when the Fairchilds were in their 
summer home there. 

244 


IN NEW TORK 


245 

The boys brought along several boxes of 
candy, and this helped very much to make 
them popular. But Faith declared she was 
more interested in cake — though even when 
she said it she had her mouth full of confec- 
tionery. 

“ I can beat any fellow in college making 
cake,” asserted Bancroft, puffing out his 
chest. 

“ Bancroft Fairchild, where did you ever 
learn to make cake ? ” asked Faith. 

“ At a certain mansion in Chester designated 
in popular nomenclature as * The Oaks/ ” he 
replied. “ Can it be possible that you have 
forgotten the lessons you gave me, and the 
post-graduate course I took under your Aunt 
Abigail last summer? Since then, in secret, 
I have experimented and improved, as invent- 
ors say. In fact, I have invented.” 

“ Invented what ? ” Leah asked. She was a 
good deal older than Bancroft and looked on 
him rather lightly, as she might have regarded 
a small boy. 


246 FAITH PALMER 

“ Cake/’ announced Bancroft. “ I have 
invented a new and extraordinarily delicious 
cake — a kind heretofore unknown and un- 
dreamed of. Ah, wait until you see this 
marvelous creation, ladies ! Just wait I Oh, 
you will say that it is indeed a roaring scream 
of a cake 1 ” 

Both girls made a good deal of noise laugh- 
ing, and Aunt Abigail called from her bed- 
room : 

“ Girls, there are other people in the 
building besides ourselves. Do not be so 
boisterous.” 

“ No, auntie,” Faith answered ; “ we’ll try 
to be quiet.” 

Then she asked Bancroft, : 

“ What do you call this wonderful cake 
invention of yours ? ” 

“ It hasn’t been named yet. You see, any 
old name won’t do. I have been thinking of 
calling it ” 

“ Why not name it the 4 Roaring Scream ' 
cake ? ” Faith suggested. 


IN NEW TORK 


247 

“ Say ! ” said Bancroft. “That’s just the 
thing! It has a sort of appetizing sound, 
hasn’t it? * Roaring Scream ’ cake ! Fine ! ” 

“ Why don’t you make some to-night ? ” 
proposed Bruce. 

“ You can have the kitchenette,” assented 
Faith. “ What do you need for ingredients ? ” 

“ Sh-h ! ” whispered Bancroft. “ That’s the 
secret.” 

“ Well,” Faith went on, “ you can have 
eggs and butter and milk and flour and flavor- 
ing extracts and jelly — almost anything you 
want.” 

“ I need them all, Faith ; but there’s still 
something lacking. It’s a peculiar chemical 
mixture, and I’ll have to go down in some 
drug store and get it. Come along, Bruce ! 
If they want to see some * Roaring Scream ’ 
cake, I’ll oblige them.” 

“ At my school,” volunteered Faith, “ we 
learn to cook according to chemistry ; but I 
never yet heard of putting chemicals into 
cake.” 


24B FAITH PALMER 

“ That’s my discovery,” declared Bancroft. 

While the boys were gone, the girls got out 
the supplies Bancroft would need for his most 
wonderful of cake inventions. 

“ Now,” he said, when he and Bruce re- 
turned with some mysterious bottles, “ I can’t 
have any interference on the part of the ladies. 
I need Bruce to assist me ; but remember that 
you girls are to keep out of this baby-grand 
kitchen, or whatever you call it.” 

Faith fastened an apron around Bruce, and 
Leah did the same service for Bancroft. Then 
the girls left the young gentlemen to their own 
devices. While they waited Faith and Leah 
sang, in the living-room, Faith accompanying. 

It was a full hour before the boys opened 
the kitchenette door. Then the girls found 
the temperature inside terrific. The little 
oven was red hot and the room was filled with 
a heavy, smoky haze. Both Bancroft and 
Bruce were bathed in perspiration, and their 
faces and hands were covered with dough, the 
yellow of eggs, jelly, and other things. 


IN NEW TORK 


249 

“ Mercy I ” cried Faith, as she surveyed the 
room. “ Leah, just look 1 ” 

It did seem as if every dish and pan in the 
apartment had been used. They filled the 
sink, littered the laundry-tub covers, and were 
scattered about on the floor. Flour had been 
spilled everywhere and the boys had walked 
in it. Sugar crunched under foot, and Faith 
nearly slipped up on some butter. 

“ Of all things ! ” cried Leah, in dismay. 

“Oh, I’m glad my aunts have gone to 
bed ! ” exclaimed Faith. “ I wouldn’t have 
them see this terrible place for the world. I’ll 
never, never turn boys loose in the kitchen 
again.” 

“ Open the window,” said Leah, “ and let 
out this dreadful smudge. I’m nearly choked. 
Chemicals and kitchenettes don’t go well to- 
gether. Ugh ! Isn’t it dreadful ? ” 

“ But where is that wonderful cake ? ” sud- 
denly demanded Faith. “ Why, I almost for- 
got it ! ” 

Bancroft was wiping the perspiration from 


FAITH PALMER 


250 

his face with the lower edge of his long apron. 
He was a woebegone spectacle. 

“ How can a fellow make cake in a kitchen 
* like this ? ” he demanded. 

“ But where is it ? ” Faith insisted. 

“ It isn’t” said Bruce. He looked very 
weary and disgusted, and his collar was wilted 
as if the season were July instead of Novem- 
ber. 

On the gas range, in an aluminum pan, was 
a smoking, crusty, black object, oval in shape 
and about an inch thick. It looked like a 
huge pancake that had been turned and re- 
turned on the griddle until it was cooked 
through and through, and then cooked some 
more. 

“ I believe this is the cake,” said Leah, tap- 
ping the object with her fingers. It gave 
forth a sound such as one might get from tap- 
ping a cement sidewalk. 

Faith took a knife and tried to cut it, but 
the thing resisted, with a metallic sound. 

“ It certainly is a * roaring scream 9 1 ” she 


IN NEW YORK 


251 

said, convulsed. “ Leah, do look at those bot- 
tles ! ” 

Leah secured possession of two bottles 
before Bancroft could interfere. One was 
marked “ Ipecac,” and the other “ Cologne 
Haute Saone Lilac.” There was still another 
bottle, but Bruce got it and kept it away from 
the girls. 

Both Faith and Leah ran out of the kitch- 
enette, laughing wildly. Faith tried to re- 
strain herself, but couldn’t. She leaned 
against the hall partition and laughed until it 
seemed as if she should die. 

Just then there came a loud rapping on the 
wall, from the other side of the partition. In 
this direction lay the Daffy apartment, where 
lived the quarrelsome, cross Mr. Duffy. 

Thump, thumpity, thump, it went; and 
both girls suddenly ceased their reckless 
mirth. 

“ Hush ! ” said Faith. 

The thumping was repeated half a dozen 
times; then it ceased for a moment, and was 


FAITH PALMER 


25 2 

repeated still again. It was evident that the 
Duffys meant the warning to be effective. 

“ The horrid things ! ” cried Faith, indig- 
nantly. “ Fve a good mind to hammer back, 
just to notify them to mind their own busi- 
ness. As if one couldn't have a little fun in 
one's own home — and it's only a quarter past 
ten ! ” 

Leah laughed — this time very quietly. 

“ Oh, well,” she said, “ let them pound. 
This is New York, remember.” 

Just then out came Aunt Abigail, in dress- 
ing-gown and slippers. 

“ Now, auntie,” said Faith, heading her off 
so that she wouldn't see that dreadful muss in 
the kitchenette, “ don't you worry your poor 
old head any more. Go right back to bed, 
and we’ll be as still as a dozen mice, all put 
together. The boys are going home pretty 
soon ” 

“ It is to be hoped that they are,” said the 
old lady, bitingly. 

Faith got her back into her room and shut 


IN NEW YORK 


253 

the door. Then the girls took the aprons off 
the boys and made them go into the living- 
room and be very quiet. 

“ Leah and I really must clean up this 
frightful looking place,” said Faith, “ before 
Ann or anybody else sees it.” 

About eleven o'clock Leah started for home, 
with both Bruce and Bancroft as escorts. 
Faith said good-by in whispers, at the apart- 
ment door — very soft whispers, indeed, lest 
the great big bear of a Duffy should pounce 
out and bite off her head. 


CHAPTER XIX 


AN INVITATION DECLINED 

One evening, during the following week, 
the hall-boy came to the Palmer apartment 
with a daintily-sealed note addressed to Faith. 
Ann took it, and Faith, who was studying a 
chart of food properties at the moment, opened 
it with some curiosity. Then her brow clouded 
and she bit her lip in perplexity and surprise. 

“ Dear Faith : [the note ran] I know 
you think I am perfectly dreadful, and I 
don’t blame you one bit. There are some 
things I should like to explain. If you 
haven’t anything else to do this evening, 
can’t you come down to our apartment? 
Father and mother have gone to a dinner, 
and I am miserably alone. Even Katie, our 
maid, is out. I do hope you can come. 

“ Prudence.” 

Faith read the note over half a dozen times, 
and the food chart slipped off on to the floor 
254 


IN NEW YORK 


255 

of the living-room and was forgotten. This 
was a very unexpected turn of affairs, and the 
little appeal went straight to her heart. “ Mis- 
erably alone ” ! Wasn’t that enough to touch 
any one’s heart ? But she had a pretty clear 
idea as to what Aunt Abigail would say. The 
old lady’s antipathy to the Lanes was very 
pronouneed; and even Faith had to admit 
that she had good cause for it. Certainly the 
Lanes had snubbed the Palmers often enough. 

Faith’s first impulse was to go down-stairs 
without telling her aunts. She wanted to go 
very much, for now she was sure that the 
snubs hadn’t been of Prudence’s making. 
And Prudence wanted to explain ! 

But it took Faith only a minute to put aside 
the temptation to follow her inclinations. 
Even if she could find an excuse to absent 
herself for a little while, she knew it wouldn’t 
be right. She had never deceived her aunts, 
and she didn’t mean to begin now. Weren’t 
they the best old aunts a girl ever had? 
Hadn’t they taken her in, an orphan, and 


256 FAITH PALMER 

given her the dearest of homes ? Hadn’t they 
given her more than she had ever dreamed of 
having, and done almost everything for her 
that she had asked ? It was clear that they 
had the right to ask something of her. 

It was not yet nine o’clock, but Aunt Deb- 
orah had gone to bed and Aunt Abigail was 
lying down in her bedroom. They were very 
old, these aunts of hers. 

Faith took the note and stepped softly to 
Aunt Abigail’s room. 

“ Auntie,” she said, when she saw the old 
lady stir at hearing her footsteps — “ Auntie, I 
have a funny invitation to — to spend the 
evening out.” 

“ Not to-night ! ” said the old lady. 

“ Yes — but I should not have far to go ; not 
out of the building.” 

“It is bedtime, Faith. Besides, I know of 
nobody in the building who would have the 
right to invite you.” 

“ Well,” returned Faith, “ it isn’t very late 
— and as to the right to invite me, why, I 


IN NEW TORK 


2 57 

suppose there are a good many people who 
might do it if they chose. Haven't we plenty 
of neighbors, auntie? And haven’t we 
wondered ever and ever so many times how 
people could live in a building together and 
be such unneighborly neighbors that scarcely 
any of them know each other ? ” 

“ Who has invited you ? ” asked the old 
lady. 

Faith laughed nervously. 

“ Really, the last person in the world we 
should expect to do it, auntie. Now I do 
hope it won’t excite you, but I’m going to 
turn on the light and read you this queer 
invitation.” 

Aunt Abigail already gave evidence of 
interest, if not actual excitement. She sat up 
on the bed as her grandniece touched the 
electric button. Then, as Faith slowly read 
Prudence’s note aloud, her face grew very 
stern. 

“ The hussie ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ Oh, auntie ! ” Faith said, reproachfully. 


258 FAITH PALMER 

“ The brazen little creature ! ” Aunt Abi- 
gail got up suddenly and towered above the 
girl, a picture of righteous anger. “ How does 
she dare send such a note as that ? ” 

“ But you see it couldn’t have been her 
fault, at all,” pleaded Faith. “ She wants to 
explain.” 

“ You will have nothing to do with those 
persons,” the old lady decreed, emphatically. 
“ They are nobodies I They are arrogant, 
ignorant, display-loving nobodies, and I shall 
not have you associating with any of them 1 ” 
“ But it is Prudence, auntie, who has written 
me this note. She is miserably lonesome — 
and we have been supposing that the people 
in this building didn’t want friends ! She 
does want them — she says so. There are 
people in New York who do want friends ; 
I’m sure that most of them do. It is just 
because New York is so big and so queer, that 
they don’t come out and say so. And even if 
her father and mother don’t care to know 
anybody here in the building, Prudence does 


IN NEW TORK 


259 

— and — and don’t you think, auntie, that I 
might run down for a few minutes ? ” 

“ Never I ” There was no mistaking the 
accent. Then she added, with just a trace of 
relaxation : 

“ I have nothing against this girl herself, 
but her people are not the sort for a girl of 
your station to mingle with. Furthermore, I 
am surprised that you should wish to have for 
a friend the daughter of a woman who has 
insulted you and your aunts.” 

“ But Prudence didn’t insult us ” 

“ You will have nothing to do with them ! ” 
decreed Aunt Abigail, rather harshly. 

Faith stood for half a minute in silence, 
trying hard to keep back the tears. She knew 
very well that when the old lady was in such 
a mood the less said the better. And she had 
no thought of defying her aunt. 

“ Very well, auntie,” she said. “ I suppose 
you are right. The Lanes have treated us 
shabbily. We may not be as citified as they 
are, but at least we can trace our ancestry 


260 


FAITH PALMER 


back to distinguished Puritan families. I 
don’t imagine they can do that. What kind 

of aristocracy is it ” 

“ Codfish ! ” said Aunt Abigail. “ Codfish 
aristocracy ! That is the kind they belong 
to.” 

“ And the Palmers are the real aristocrats, 
after all. Isn’t that funny ? Well, I do feel 
sorry for Prudence, and I'm sorry her people 
are so foolish. I never should have made any 
advances, after what has occurred ; but since 
Prudence herself has made them, I should 

dearly like to run down and see her ” 

“ She is a disobedient girl,” interrupted 
Aunt Abigail, “ even to ask you there when 
her parents are out. She does not dare invite 
you to go there when they are home. That is 
very wrong, even though the conduct of the 
parents themselves is reprehensible. You 
must not have any part in such disobedience.” 

Faith had not thought of this phase of the 
matter before. But Aunt Abigail’s logic was 
undoubtedly right. 


IN NEW TORK 261 

“ I'm so sorry I ” she said. “ But, auntie, 
how shall ! answer this note ? ” 

“ If you must answer it at all,” said Miss 
Abigail, “ you may say that your aunts dis- 
approve of your accepting the invitation. 
There is no occasion to say more.” 

“ Very well, auntie,” returned Faith, and 
went back to the living-room. 

There was a little escritoire in one corner 
of the room, and Faith sat down before it and 
wrote the note as Aunt Abigail had suggested : 

“ Dear Prudence : I am so sorry that my 
aunts disapprove of my accepting your kind 
invitation. Faith. ' ’ 

After she had written it, she read it over a 
good many times, and the oftener she read it 
the colder and more hostile did it seem. She 
didn’t want to seem hostile, for she did not 
feel that way in the least — not toward Pru- 
dence. So finally she tore up the note and 
threw the pieces into the waste-basket. Then 
she composed a second note, like this : 


262 FAITH PALMER 

“ Dear Prudence : I was so glad to get your 
kind little note, and I wanted so much to go 
down and see you. But my Aunt Abigail 
has very strict ideas about such things and 
would not let me. Oh, this is a dreadful 
world — at least, in some ways ! But I love 
pretty nearly everything in it, anyway. And 
do you know, I was miserably lonesome in 
New York myself for a while, but now I don’t 
feel so much that way. I wish some things 
could be different, but I suppose they can’t be. 
I have to mind my Aunt Abigail. 

“ Faith.” 


She read this note over, too, and smiled at 
it ruefully. It was a funny note, she ad- 
mitted. Certainly it was unconventional. 
But at all events she had said what she 
meant, and if there was any virtue in the 
truth, the note ought to have it. She had 
told Prudence that Aunt Abigail wouldn’t let 
them know each other, but she had told it in 
a way that would let Prudence know that this 
was not a matter of her own doing. 

She folded the note, sealed it with her own 
little wax die, and rang for the hall-boy. 


IN NEW TORK 263 

After the note had gone, she resumed her seat 
by the table in the living-room, picked up the 
food chart from the floor, and took up her 
study at the point where she had left off. 
But every bit of interest had gone out of 
foods. She couldn’t fix her mind on any- 
thing except Prudence Lane. 

Poor Prudence I The episode of the two 
notes seemed like a sort of little tragedy. She 
liked Prudence and Prudence liked her, but 
just on account of wretched old New York, 
they couldn’t know each other. Because Pru- 
dence’s father and mother had city ideas, and 
Faith’s aunts were so old-fashioned and didn’t 
patronize city dressmakers and such people, 
she and Prudence must be strangers. For a 
few minutes she was inclined to be angry 
toward Miss Helena Burdick, her aunts’ dress- 
maker in Chester. Miss Burdick had been 
making their dresses for half a century or 
more, and no doubt she did have ancient 
ideas. What right had she to be making 
dresses at all, and spoiling things and mak- 


264 FAITH PALMER 

ing people ridiculous when they came to the 
city? 

But of course it couldn't be helped, Faith 
reflected, more philosophically. Her aunts 
would go on wearing old-fashioned clothes, 
and old-fashioned hats, as long as they lived ; 
and it wouldn't make any difference whether 
the Lanes liked it or not. After all, the 
Lanes didn't cut much of a figure in the 
world — neither did Prudence. 

Just the same, Faith felt very badly to 
think that now it was all over between herself 
and Prudence. There wasn't any chance of 
their being friends. The die was cast. 

For a long time the girl sat there alone, 
thinking; and she had to keep brushing away 
the mist with her handkerchief— the obsti- 
nate misty dew that kept gathering in her 
eyes. 

“ Faith — what time is it? " 

Aunt Abigail was calling to her from the 
bedroom down the hall. 

Faith hadn't any idea what time it was. 


IN NEW YORK 265 

She was amazed when she looked up at the 
clock. 

“ Why, it's after eleven, auntie ! ” she an- 
swered. “I really didn’t know it was getting 
so late.” 

“ Put up your books this minute and go to 
bed,” commanded the old lady. “ You will 
ruin your eyes and make yourself prematurely 
old with this night study. I do not believe 
in making young girls work half the night 
when they should be sleeping. Close your 
books instantly ! ” 

“ Yes, auntie,” said Faith ; “ they are al- 
ready closed.” 


CHAPTER XX 


BREAKING INTO NEW YORK CIRCLES 

Drip, drip, drip. 

It was in the middle of the night, and quite 
dark in Faith's tiny room on the eleventh 
floor of the Morningside Apartmelit Building. 
The street lights scarcely penetrated to that 
altitude, and there was no moon. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

Faith stirred uneasily, half conscious of 
some unusual sound. Then she lay still for 
a minute, then stirred again, then sat up in 
bed, listening. Surely, it must be raining in 
at the window ! 

She jumped up and looked out, but she saw 
some stars twinkling. It couldn't be rain. 
She switched on the electric light, and just 
then she felt a splash of water on her hand. 
Looking up, she saw a wet spot on the ceil- 

266 


IN NEW TORK 267 

ing, as big as a wash-tub. On the floor under 
it the rug was saturated. 

Tiptoeing as quietly as possible, so as not to 
disturb her aunts, she awoke Ann. 

“ Get up, quick ! ” she whispered, with her 
hand on the maid’s shoulder. “ Get up ; 
there’s water leaking through from somewhere. 
Do hurry ! ” 

“ Aw-w ! ” grunted Ann, unbelievingly. 
“ Aw-w ! what’s matter with you? You be 
dream ! ” 

“ Come and see ! — only be as quiet as you 
can. Aunt Deborah’s back has been so bad all 
day, you know, and Aunt Abigail’s feet have 
hurt her dreadfully. They need the sleep. 
But something must be done, Ann — look ! ” 
They had reached Faith’s room ; and, sure 
enough, Ann saw the water. 

“What did it was?” she asked. 

“ I can’t imagine. Maybe it’s from one of 
the pipes that lead to the tanks on the roof. 
Just look at it drip. Why, we’ll be flooded 
here before morning. What shall we do ? ” 


268 


FAITH PALMER 


“ I dunno,” growled Ann. 

Faith stood watching the water drip for a 
minute, her face very much perplexed. 

“ It’ll run down through the floor and 
drown out the people beneath us — the Kel- 
loggs,” she said. About all she knew of the 
Kelloggs was their name and the fact that they 
had an old lady in the family as old as Aunt 
Abigail. 

“ Oh, who was care for Kelloggs ! ” sniffed 
Ann. 

“ Well, we can’t be flooded away ourselves, 
anyhow,” insisted Faith. “ I’ve got to notify 
the janitor. But if I telephone down, I’ll 
wake up Aunt Abigail and Aunt Debby — and 
after the time they’ve had to get asleep that 
would be such a shame. I’ll go down-stairs 
myself, Ann, to the janitor’s quarters.” 

“ You better do be not,” warned Ann. 

“ Oh, I’m not afraid. Besides, doesn’t the 
elevator run all night? Of course I’ll go. 
Do be quiet, Ann ! I’ll dress just as fast as 
I can, and you can run into the kitchen and 


IN NEW YORK 269 

get something to catch the water in. I do 
hope it’ll not get any worse.” 

Ann came back with a granite pail, and the 
dripping of the water made such a dreadful 
noise that Faith hastily put a couple of hand- 
kerchiefs in the bottom to deaden it. Then 
she stepped softly to Aunt Abigail’s door and 
listened. The old lady was sleeping heavily. 
So was Aunt Deborah in the room adjoining. 

She slipped on her shoes and put on a ki- 
mono and a long coat that covered her. Then 
she cautioned Ann to stay there and watch 
the water. If there should be a sudden flood 
she must arouse the aunts, of course, but not 
otherwise. 

“ I’ll trust them to you, Ann,” she said, 
solemnly, as if she were going on some dire 
expedition, and leaving almost as dire danger 
at home. 

“ I do be take care of ’em,” Ann assured 
her, with equal solemnity. 

Faith let herself out of the apartment noise- 
lessly, and closed the door very softly after 


FAITH PALMER 


270 

her, having taken the precaution to tie the 
key in one corner of her handkerchief. The 
corridor of the eleventh floor seemed very 
still and ghostly, with the lights burning low 
in its dim recesses. Even softly as she walked, 
she seemed to be making a clatter on the 
mosaic floor. In the daytime or evening she 
never had noticed that her footsteps were 
noisy, but now she went clackity-clack, as she 
expressed it afterward. It frightened her. 

She pressed the elevator button gingerly, 
and, far below, heard the jingle of the bell — 
so far that the sound reached her indistinctly. 
She waited; no response. Again she pressed it, 
this time a little more firmly; but still no sign. 

The night elevator boy, of course, was asleep. 
Well, she couldn’t blame him ; but she really 
must go down, so she rang again, and again, 
and again, getting bolder and bolder about it ; 
but all in vain. The boy was not troubled 
with insomnia like Aunt Abigail, or sensitive 
nerves. He was one of those persons, Faith 
thought, who was proof against such annoy- 


IN NEW TO RK 


271 

ances as bells of all kinds, including alarm 
clocks and elevator signals. 

She gave it up. There was nothing to do 
but walk down the stairs. For a minute she 
stood at the top, hesitating, for the stairway 
seemed very dark and uninviting. Twice she 
had gone down that way in the daytime, out 
of a spirit of adventure — once with the girls 
of the house-party. It was fun then ; now it 
wasn't. 

Cautiously she crept down, lest she trip on 
the slippery stone and go headlong in the 
gloom to the bottom of the flight. She clung 
very tightly to the hand-rail, shivering a little, 
not with cold but with nervousness. The 
building was warm. It was a cold night out- 
side and the steam was up at a good pressure. 
She was almost at the tenth-floor landing 
when she suddenly stopped, and she thought 
her heart had ceased beating. Somebody was 
out in the corridor, watching her ! 

Faith could not repress a little scream, and 
for a moment she stood there, rigid. Why, 


FAITH PALMER 


272 

she couldn’t have told. Really, there was 
nothing to be alarmed at. Other tenants had 
as much right to be out in the hall as she had. 
But in spite of this undeniable truth, she 
would have run pell-mell up-stairs again 
in another moment if the somebody hadn’t 
spoken. It was a woman’s voice she heard, 
soft, gentle and pleasantly modulated. It re- 
assured her in a twinkling. Then, a little 
way down the hall, she recognized the old lady 
who belonged in the Kellogg apartment. 

“ My dear,” the latter said, “ I heard you 
ringing the elevator bell, and I hoped you 
could waken that poor boy down below. I 
had been trying for ten minutes to do it my- 
self. And I’ve been calling and calling on 
the telephone. The elevator boy, you know, 
attends to the switchboard at night, after 
the hall-boy goes home. My son is very ill, I 
fear, and my daughter-in-law is away on a 
visit. I must have a doctor — and dear me, I 
have been so worried ! My boy and I are 
alone in the apartment.” 


IN NEW YORK 


273 

Faith felt her courage come back quickly. 
She was needed — that was sufficient. And 
surely, this dear old lady was enough to com- 
fort anybody, she thought. As she stood there 
in her neat-fitting wrapper she seemed like 
anything but the spook Faith had almost 
thought her. 

“ I am going down anyway,” the girl said ; 
“ and I mean to wake up that boy and give 
him a real shaking — if I can. I’ve got to 
wake up the janitor, too, or I’m afraid we’ll be 
flooded out of our apartment ; and I must 
hurry. But if you don’t mind, Mrs. Kel- 
logg ” 

“ Yes, I’m Mrs. Kellogg — Mrs. Kellogg, 
Senior.” 

“ If you don’t mind, Mrs. Kellogg, I’ll be 
ever and ever so glad to stop when I come 
back ; and if I can do anything to help you, 
I’ll do it. I hope there will be something I 
can do.” 

“ Bless you I ” said the old lady. “ We 
haven’t lived long in New York, and we’ve 


FAITH PALMER 


274 

missed our neighbors so much. But it's ask> 
ing too much of you, dear.” 

“ Oh, no ; it isn’t ! ” insisted Faith. “ Now 
don’t worry and I’ll come back.” 

She went on down the stairs, quite bravely 
now ; almost gaily, for she remembered how 
she had been threatening to get acquainted 
with some of the families in the building. 
She had meant to do it just for the fun of ac- 
complishing it ; but this was still better. It 
was better to do things to help people than to 
do them for fun. 

She passed the ninth, eighth and seventh 
floors ; and then, as she neared the sixth floor, 
she stopped again, for she heard a noise that 
arrested her attention. It wasn’t a spooky 
noise this time, and she wasn’t frightened — 
only interested. It was the agonized crying 
of a baby — the only baby in the building and 
the one the landlord was trying to evict, with 
its parents. Faith’s blood had boiled many 
times at the reports Ann had brought her 
about this affair. Any one might think that 


IN NEW YORK 



2 75 


the crime of being a baby was black and 
awful. 

“ The poor darling I ” she said to herself, as 
she went on down. “ I suppose it has the 
earache or the toothache, or something or 
other the matter with its little insides. I 
just wonder if I could help them any in 
there, too. But of course not — how silly I 
am.” . 

Just then the door of the apartment opened 
— it was near the elevator — and the young 
mother looked out. Faith knew her by sight 
only. Now their eyes met. 

“ Is there anything I can do for that dear 
baby ? ” Faith asked. “ I am on my way 
down-stairs to wake up the elevator boy for 
Mrs. Kellogg, and wake up the janitor to fix 
a water leak, and — and IT1 be glad to do any- 
thing I can for you, too.” 

“ Oh, I’ll be so thankful if you will wake 
up that Wretched boy ! ” exclaimed the other. 
“ I’ve been trying so hard to get the drug 
store, for my baby is suffering dreadfully with 


276 FAITH PALMER 

the colic. My husband is out on one of his 
trips, and the maid went to a dance and hasn’t 
come home. I’m half distracted. You see, 
we never lived in New York until last sum- 
mer, and it’s so dreadful to be without neigh- 
bors who care just a little bit for one. We’ve 
always had so many who did care. I’ll thank 
you ever and ever so much, dear, if you will 
wake him up — and shake him as hard as you 
can.” 

“ I will I ” declared Faith. “ I’ll shake him 
and shake him. And when I come back up- 
stairs I’ll stop to see if I can help you quiet 
that baby.” 

Then she suddenly remembered that she 
had promised to stop on the tenth floor at 
Mrs. Kellogg’s. Well, she was getting con- 
siderable business, sure enough, for one lonely 
country girl in exclusive New York. 

She made all possible haste down the re- 
maining flights of stairs, and when she reached 
the lobby, there, sure as anything, was the 
elevator boy, sound asleep. He was curled up 


IN NEW YORK 


2 77 

very comfortably on one of the velvet-upliol- 
stered pillar seats, near the palms, with his 
mouth open and making a very unpleasant 
noise as he breathed. He was a colored boy, 
perhaps seventeen, and not very large. 

Faith put a hand on one shoulder; then 
she put both hands on the same shoulder ; 
then she braced her feet as well as she 
could on the inlaid stone floor; then she 
shook . 

“ HoP on I HoP on — leggo I ” mumbled the 
boy, as Faith shook harder and harder. “ HoP 
on I Leggo I HoP on I Yes — yes, ma’am ; oh, 
yes, ma'am ! I's a-comin', ma'am ! Did yo' 
all ring, ma'am? 'Clare to goodness de bell 
nevah ring 't all ! Been listen 'n' listen for 
it, 'n' nevah ring — no, sah, no, ma'am; nevah 
even tinkle. Got to git dat bell fixed suah, 
ma’am." 

He sat up suddenly and threw his feet 
around to the floor ; and Faith lost her grip 
just as suddenly and sat down with a thud 
that brought the stars dancing before her. She 


278 FAITH PALMER 

sat there on the floor for a few seconds, look- 
ing up at the colored boy, while he sat on the 
velvet cushion and looked down at her. 

“ You just hurry up and answer that switch- 
board,^ she said, rising at length, with a 
twinge of pain. “ Do hurry, for there’s a man 
on the tenth floor nearly dead, and a baby on 
the sixth floor that may be dead by this time. 
They’ve got to have doctors and druggists, and 
— and how dreadful of you to lie there asleep 
and let them die ! ” 

“ I — I hope dey isn’t really dead ! ” he said, 
and staggered sleepily across to his switch- 
board. 

Faith went on down into the basement, for 
she knew where the janitor’s quarters were. 
By this time she was quite brave, and she 
rang the bell furiously. The janitor’s wife 
answered, and Faith told the trouble. Yes, 
they would look after it at once. It was that 
same old leaky pipe to the roof tanks that had 
troubled them before. 

So, with this urgent business transacted, 


IN NEW TORK 


279 

Faith returned to the lobby and told the 
elevator boy to take her to the sixth floor. 

“ Oh, that poor little baby ! ” she said, as 
the young mother admitted her. “ Do let me 
take it.” 

The baby hit her on the nose the first thing, 
and got its tiny fist tangled in her hair, and 
screamed dreadfully. But Faith held it over 
her shoulder, as she had seen nurses do, and 
patted it on the back very gently. And sure 
enough its screams began to subside, and in a 
short time its head dropped down and its arms 
and legs stopped waving and kicking. 

“ I do believe it's asleep! ” said its mother, 
amazed. 

Faith smiled. She had felt many times 
that she could do things of this sort, but never 
before had she found an opportunity. 

“ You may take it,” she said, “ for I have 
another patient on the tenth floor. But I'm 
coming back here in a few minutes, or just as 
soon as I can, to see if it’s all right — the poor 
dear ! ” 


280 FAITH PALMER 

Then she told the baby’s mother about Mrs. 
Kellogg. 

This time the elevator boy answered her 
ring quickly ; and Mrs. Kellogg opened the 
door for her. 

“ How — how is your son ? ” Faith asked, in 
a whisper. 

“ He’s sleeping for a few minutes, dear ; 
and the doctor is coming right up.” 

“ I’m so glad,” Faith sighed. “ Now I 
think I’ll have to run up and tell Ann about 
the pipe ; but I’ll be here again in just a few 
minutes to see if you need me.” 

It was ten minutes past two by the little 
clock on her dresser when Faith tiptoed into 
her bedroom again. Ann sat on the bed, 
watching the pail on the floor, which by this 
time was half full. 

“ Oh, you stay long time ! ” she protested. 
11 1 hunt pretty soon to find where you go.” 

“ Ann, I’ve had a perfectly lovely time — 
you won’t believe it ! I’ve made the acquaint- 
ance of two families here in the building, put 


IN NEW YORK 


28 1 

a baby to sleep, shaken the elevator boy, and 
routed out the janitor and his wife. Do } r ou 
think I’ve been gone long for all that ? But 
I’m not through yet, Ann ; I suppose I shall 
make a night of it, now that I’ve begun. 
Really, they need me, so why shouldn’t I ? 
It’s pleasant to be of some account in the 
world, even if one does have to miss a little 
sleep. And one can sleep almost any old 
time, but it isn’t every night one can quiet a 
colicky baby and help a sweet old lady, and 
— and shake that wretched elevator boy.” 

Once more Faith stepped cautiously to the 
doorways of her aunts’ rooms and listened. 

“They are sleeping just beautifully,” she 
told Ann, when she returned. “Poor old 
aunties — they are simply worn out with their 
backs and their feet. We must keep them 
asleep. Now, Ann, you sit right there on the 
bed and watch that pail, and don’t let it run 
over. I suppose the pipe will stop leaking in 
a few minutes. The janitor said he would 
tighten something or other up under the roof ; 


282 


FAITH PALMER 


I think it was a valve, but Fm not sure. 
Anyhow, he’ll fix it ; and when the water 
stops dripping, Ann, you can go back to bed. 
I don’t know what time I’ll be back.” 

Ann protested against such midnight per- 
formances, and evinced a strange lack of sym- 
pathy for babies with the colic and old ladies 
alone with their sick sons ; but Faith knew 
what she wanted to do, and she did it. 

It was twenty minutes past five when she 
noiselessly let herself in again at the front 
door. It was still night, however, and the 
great apartment building was very quiet and 
the hall lights burned as dimly as they had at 
midnight. The Palmer apartment was very 
still, too, but a bright light shone into the lit- 
tle hall from Faith’s bedroom. In some 
alarm, the girl moved quickly and with the 
softest of steps to the door and looked in. 

There lay Ann, sound asleep on Faith’s bed, 
in a rather ungraceful attitude, with her feet 
hanging off. The water had stopped dripping, 
but the pail was nearly full. 


IN NEW TORK 283 

With cautious movements Faith lifted Ann’s 
feet on to the bed. Then she got a blanket 
and put it over the sleeper, and tucked it in 
carefully. Having done this, and turned off 
the light, she stole again to listen to her aunts’ 
regular breathing. The old ladies had slept 
peacefully through it all. There was a very 
tender light in the girl’s brown eyes as she 
stood for a minute listening ; and the smile 
that came and went upon her lips was elusive 
and wonderful enough for an artist. 

Ten minutes later Faith herself was asleep, 
curled up under a steamer rug on the couch 
in the living-room. The brown eyes were 
hidden, but something of the smile still lin- 
gered. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A TOY HOME 

Faith went the following week, of an even- 
ing, to see Brenda Castle at her home. New 
York was becoming less of a labyrinth to 
Faith, and she found the place easily enough 
— tucked away at the top of one of those 
gloom-producing human domiciles known as 
“ walk-ups.” 

She walked up the four flights of stairs to 
the fifth floor, and, out of breath, found Brenda 
and her mother expecting her. Brenda had 
said they lived in a little apartment, and little 
it was. Beside it, the Palmer suite at Morn- 
ingside Park was palatial. 

“ But it is cute ! ” Faith exclaimed. “ It's 
a regular toy home, isn’t it ? Only it must be 
dreadfully hot in the summer.” 

“ Terrible ! ” agreed Brenda. “ Sometimes 

284 


IN NEW TORK 285 

I am tempted to go down and sleep on the 
sidewalk, as they do in the tenement district. 
One night last July I really thought we should 
die up here, Faith.” 

“ But you don’t stay in New York all sum- 
mer?” Faith asked. 

“ For the last two summers we have.” 

Brenda did not explain further ; but Faith 
knew that this girl’s father had died two years 
before, so she needed no further enlighten- 
ment. 

“ Well,” said Faith, as Brenda got the 
marshmallows ready to toast over the gas- 
plate in the kitchenette — which was scarcely 
a kitchenette, but more of a slit in the wall — 
“ well, I’ve been thinking things over since I 
saw you last, and I’ve made up my mind that 
you’d make a really good schoolma’am up at 
Chester — for one of those district schools, you 
know. If you had a school — probably not 
the McAllister School, but a better one — you 
wouldn’t have to stay in New York all sum- 
mer ; why, you wouldn’t have to stay here at 


286 


FAITH PALMER 


all. And you’d have a ten- weeks vacation in 
the summer, and you could ride with me 
sometimes in my new automobile. Oh, I 
haven’t got it yet ; and I haven’t found cour- 
age to tell Aunt Abigail I want it. She’ll say 
no at first, and be very indignant ; but she’ll 
get it for me, of course. She always does that 
way, you know. I don’t want a big touring- 
car, of course — -just big enough to take my 
two aunts out with ; and I think I’d like blue 
pretty well. I know Aunt Abigail would 
never get me a red one. But I was talking 
about the school. I mean to speak to Mr. 
Widdowson about you, Brenda — he’s on the 
school board — and I’m sure you can get a 
place if you’ll come.” 

Brenda looked at her friend in some amaze- 
ment. 

“ It’s so good of you to think of it,” she 
said, “ but I never could do it. I don’t know 
enough.” 

“ The idea ! ” Faith exclaimed. “ Why, you 
told me yourself that you had a year in Miss 


IN NEW YORK 287 

Dusenfield’s Long Island School before your 
father died — and that’s one of the best schools 
in the country. But even if you didn’t know 
half as much as a high-school girl, Brenda, or 
one-quarter as much, you could teach such a 
school as McAllister’s. The children there 
don’t know anything at all — so it would be 
dreadfully easy. When I taught McAllister’s 
I didn’t know half as much as you do.” 

“ If I could,” said Brenda, thoughtfully, 
“ wouldn’t it be splendid ! Mother has been 
longing so to go to the country — and we 
simply couldn’t.” 

The mother did look as if she needed the 
country even more than her daughter. She 
was a quiet, refined woman, who seemed as 
much wrapped up in Brenda as the Misses 
Abigail and Deborah were in a certain other 
young lady. 

“ Well, you simply can,” Faith cried, beam- 
ing ; “ and you simply shall. The examina- 
tion is easier than two sticks — it’s just a joke. 
And I’ll show you all I know about teaching, 


288 


FAITH PALMER 


which, of course, won’t take very long. It’s 
a good time now to begin making plans for 
next fall. Or it really might be that you 
could get a place this very winter, for teachers 
aren’t plentiful up in those districts, and you 
know so many girls do get married ! And 
when they get married they give up their 
schools right away, and sometimes don’t even 
give notice. Two of the girls who taught at 
McAllister’s did that last year, and Mr. Wid- 
dowson had the most terrible time filling their 
places. Anyhow, you could move up to Ches- 
ter in the summer and get settled, and have a 
rest before school began in the fall. Chester, 
you know, is a summer resort, and the ocean 
— oh, it is glorious ! ” 

Faith knew that Brenda’s salary at the 
glove counter was not over seven or eight dol- 
lars a week, while, as a teacher, she would re- 
ceive more, even in a country school. 

“ And you can live much more inexpen- 
sively,” she urged. “ Why, I know of some 
lovely little all-the-year cottages right in sight 


IN NEW TORK 289 

of the sea, Brenda Castle, and there aren’t any 
sky-houses in Chester, as Ann says ; there 
isn’t even one of them. The people live on 
the ground and they don’t have to burn lights 
to eat luncheon by at noon.” 

Brenda was so eager and so nervous that she 
burned up a whole batch of marshmallows. 

“ If you keep on, Faith Palmer, you’ll really 
make me think I can do it. And if I think 
I can, why I can — and I will I ” 

“ Of course you will,” concluded Faith. 

That was as far as they got with the school- 
teaching affair, for they had so many other 
things to talk of, and Faith had to start for 
home at nine o’clock. Aunt Abigail had 
wished it. 

Brenda went to the car with her, and made 
her promise to come again ; and promised in 
turn to visit Faith. The girls separated, 
happy in the new friendship. 

When she reached the Morningside Apart- 
ment Building a limousine was standing just 
in front, and it looked to her very much like 


FAITH PALMER 


290 

the Love car. She hurried in as fast as she 
could, and when she unlocked the front door 
and opened it, sure enough, there was Kathryn, 
hiding behind it. 

“ Kathryn Love — you dear old thing ! ” 
Faith cried, embracing her. “ You’ll have to 
get a great deal thinner than you are now 
before you can successfully secrete yourself in 
a New York apartment. But surely you 
didn’t come alone ! ” 

“ You don’t see any one else, do you ? ” ob- 
served Kathryn, dryly. 

44 Yes, I do ! ” 

Faith’s eyes were pretty sharp. She walked 
straight down the hall to her own room, 
turned in, and looked behind the door. 

“ Betty Fairchild, I saw you peeking out — 
you sly thing ! Well, this is a surprise ” 

Just then somebody’s hands were passed 
quickly in front of her eyes and clasped 
there. 

“ Who is it ? ” a disguised voice inquired. 

“ It’s Leah Churchill, of course. If you 


IN NEW YORK 


291 

want to fool me, really and truly, take off that 
ring on your little finger next time. Oh, I 
know you, Leah ; so let go.” 

It was Leah, though she hadn't come with 
Kathryn and Betty, but by herself. She was 
going home to Boston for Christmas, and to 
stay for two or three weeks, and she had come 
in to say good-by. 

Betty was down from Fordyce, spending 
the week-end with Kathryn, and they, too, 
had come to the Morningside Apartment 
Building on a Christmas errand. The Loves 
wanted Faith and her aunts to dine with them 
Christmas Day. 

“Where are my aunts?” Faith demanded, 
for the first time noticing that they were not 
in evidence. 

“ Your Aunt Abigail,” said Ann, coming 
out of the kitchenette, where she was baking, 
“ be down helpin' old Mrs. Kellogg take care 
o' the man who got information back in his 
head. And your Aunt Deborah, she did was 
visitin' down with the janitor’s wife. She say 


FAITH PALMER 


292 

if Miss Abigail go, she do be go too. She be 
back in few whiles.” 

Faith looked at her friends triumphantly. 

“ There ! ” she exclaimed. “ See the prog- 
ress the Palmer family is making in the New 
York social whirl ! ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know how you ever did 
it — to get your Aunt Abigail and your Aunt 
Deborah out in society like this,” said Betty ; 
“ for of course I know it was you who did it — 
nobody else could.” 

“ Yes, I did it,” Faith confessed. “ I 
brought Mrs. Kellogg up here to call on Aunt 
Abigail and Aunt Debby, and the next day I 
took my aunts down to call on Mrs. Kellogg. 
Aunt Abigail said she’d never go ; but she 
did. At first, her formality was simply dread- 
ful — but you see I had warned Mrs. Kellogg 
in advance, and she didn’t care the least bit. 
Now she and Aunt Abigail are actually 
chummy ; at least, as much so as two old 
ladies of that sort can be. But Aunt Debby 
likes the janitor’s wife better. You see, we 


IN NEW YORK 


293 

stopped in there one day, when Aunt Debby 
and I had been out for a walk. She thought 
it was really terrible to be going in to see the 
janitor's wife; but the janitor's wife wanted to 
learn how to knit, and Aunt Debby is show- 
ing her." 

Then Faith laughed merrily and sat down 
exhausted. 

“ I do so want Aunt Abigail to see that dear 
baby down-stairs ! " she added. “ But so far I 
haven't figured out any way. Oh, it’s the 
sweetest, cutest, most colicky baby you ever 
saw, Betty. I wish I could get Aunt Abigail 
to hold it. She would love it, I know 1 " 

Just then Miss Abigail returned from her 
visit to the tenth floor. Kathryn gave her 
the invitation to dine at the Loves' on Christ- 
mas. 

“ It is very good of your mother to ask us," 
the old lady said, “ but it has always been a 
cardinal principle with the Palmers to take 
their Christmas dinners at home. I should 
like Faith to grow up in that spirit ; and you 


FAITH PALMER 


294 

know my sister Deborah and I shall not be 
with Faith on many more Christmas Days.” 

“ Of course you will — both of you ! ” Faith 
put her arms around the old lady’s neck. 
Aunt Abigail did seem very old, and her 
infirmities were clearly gaining upon her. 
“ Oh, auntie, what would I do without you ? 
And you know I am studying very hard here 
in New York so that I can take the very best 
care of you and Aunt Deborah ; and we’ll all 
be at ‘ The Oaks ’ on Christmas, after this one, 
for years and years. Oh, we really will. If 
you talk like that, I shall cry my eyes out — 
and I’ll begin it right now ! ” 

She put her head on the old lady’s black 
silk waist. It was a long time after that be- 
fore Aunt Abigail referred again, even dis- 
tantly, to her narrowing span of life. 

After the three girls had gone, and Aunt 
Deborah was back from the janitor’s rooms, 
Faith came out of her bedroom, where she was 
preparing to retire. 

“ I’m so glad, auntie, that you declined the 


IN NEW YORK 


295 

Love invitation,” she said, with a radiant 
smile, “ because — because I do want to ask 
Brenda Castle and her mother to dine here 
with us on Christmas. I’d like to write 
Brenda to-night.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


A LONELY CALLER 

On the afternoon before Christmas old Mrs. 
Kellogg prevailed upon the Misses Abigail 
and Deborah to accompany her to a church 
affair a few blocks away. Faith helped her 
aunts to dress — for the Morningside School of 
Domestic Arts had closed for two weeks — and 
“ prettied ” them up, as she said. Indeed, 
they looked very distinctive in their quaint 
old-fashioned black gowns. Aunt Abigail 
wore a white ruching in the sleeves and neck ; 
Aunt Debby the usual soft kerchief. 

Having seen the three old ladies safely 
down the elevator and out on the sidewalk, 
Faith watched them until they turned a 
corner. She would have gone further, except 
that Aunt Abigail said it was wholly unneces- 
sary — she was quite able to take care of her- 
self and of Aunt Deborah, too. Moreover, she 

296 


IN NEW YORK 


297 

refused to let Faith send for a taxicab. Of all 
things, she most disliked motor-cars and 
gasolene, and submitted to that kind of trans- 
portation only in extreme emergency. She 
had never ridden in an automobile at all 
until Faith got her into one. 

When the old ladies were out of sight, Faith 
returned to the apartment. Now was the time 
to make some necessary Christmas prepara- 
tions that had to be done in the absence of 
the aunts. Perhaps Faith, in her mysterious 
ways of bringing things about, had engineered 
the invitation that had taken the old ladies 
away for a couple of hours. If so, she kept 
the secret from Ann, who, she had learned, 
was not especially good at withholding con- 
fidential information. 

“ Now, Ann,” she said, bustling in, “ we 
must get all those packages out and rewrap 
them and tie them with the Christmas string 
I got yesterday. Dear me, what a time we’ve 
had hiding them ! What fun it is to have 
Christmas in an apartment ! ” 


298 FAITH PALMER 

From behind the little dresser in Ann’s 
room she dragged forth a roughly wrapped, 
home-made package, which, on being un- 
rolled, disclosed a warm woolen dressing- 
gown. Faith had made it for Aunt Abigail 
by working late at night, after the rest of the 
household had retired. Then from back of a 
bookcase in the living-room she produced, 
when Ann helped her move the heavy piece 
of furniture, another package containing a 
dainty porch-jacket which she had made with 
similar self-sacrificing toil for Aunt Deborah. 

Other bundles were dragged from various 
hiding places, ticketed, tied up, and hidden 
away again. Mysterious notes were written, 
Christmas decorations examined, and plans 
made for some surreptitious work to be done 
that night after the aunts were asleep. Faith 
and Ann meant to turn the apartment into a 
veritable Santa Claus den, for the delectation 
of her relatives when they awoke, and for the 
benefit of the invited guests and such other 
persons as might happen in. The Palmer 


IN NEW YORK 


299 

apartment was no longer without a calling 
list. 

Things were very much in disorder, there- 
fore, when the door-bell rang unexpectedly. 
Faith dropped some holly wreaths and stood 
erect. 

11 Mercy I ” she said, under her breath. 
“ Who do you suppose that is ? I wonder if 
my aunts could possibly have come back so 
soon. Oh, Ann, get the things out of the 
living-room — quick ! Come — help me do it 1 ” 

Together they made the Christmas things 
fly. Meanwhile the door-bell ran again, with a 
sickly, discouraged air, as if the summons 
would not be repeated the third time. 

“That is not Aunt Abigail,” said Faith, 
with a note of relief. “ If she doesn't get in 
the first time she rings, she makes the old bell 
jingle, you know. I’ll go to the door, Ann, 
and you stay back there near the dining-room 
and keep anybody from seeing things.” 

She hurried to the front door and opened it 
a few inches, inquiringly. Then she suddenly 


FAITH PALMER 


3 °° 

let go of the door altogether, in surprise, for 
there stood — Prudence Lane I 

Certainly she looked like a very sweet girl, 
a portrait in herself, as she stood there. Her 
cheeks were like two roses and her eyes bright 
and shining, yet hesitating ; and her lips a 
little parted, as if she wanted to say some- 
thing, but wasn’t just sure what. Her uncon- 
scious pose was exquisitely set off, too, by 
the white cloth skirt and dainty blouse she 
wore. 

“I — I saw your aunts go away,” she said, 
after a moment, “ so I came up here, Faith, 
to see you a minute. Of course I know that 
your aunts wouldn’t let me in if they were 
home. I know that I’m very much in dis- 
favor with them, and I don’t blame them. 
But I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind it 
so much — and — and I’ve got something I do 
want to say.” 

At first Faith hesitated, because she knew 
what Aunt Abigail would say were she there. 
Then she acted on her natural impulse. 


IN NEW YORK 


3 01 

“ Why, of course I shall be glad to have 
you come in,” she said, throwing back the 
door. 

She led the caller into the living-room. 

“ Won’t you have a chair ? ” she said. 
“ We’re getting ready for Christmas, and 
things look rather untidy.” 

“ I should like to see our apartment upset a 
little sometimes,” returned Prudence. “ It 
never is. And — and we’re not going to deco- 
rate because mother doesn’t like the muss. 
Besides, we’re going out for Christmas dinner 
— we always do. Father and mother and I 
always eat our Christmas turkey at the Wal- 
dorf-Astoria, you see.” 

“ A hotel ! ” exclaimed Faith. “ What a 
funny place to go for Christmas dinner. I 
shouldn’t like that one bit. We were invited 
out, too, but we’re not going one step. Aunt 
Abigail thinks that home is the place for 
everybody on Christmas ; and I think so, too. 
But of course that rule cannot always work, 
for if it did where would anybody get Christ- 


FAITH PALMER 


3°2 

mas guests? And Christmas guests are as 
much a part of Christmas as anything.” 

“ I think you are right,” said the caller ; 
u but I have to take things as they are. I 
can’t help myself — and that is just what I 
came here to talk about. In the first place 
my — my mother isn’t my mother at all. She’s 
my stepmother. Did you know that? ” 

“ No,” said Faith ; and suddenly a light be- 
gan to break in upon her. 

“ You poor girl ! ” she said. “ I’m sorry 
you haven’t a real mother. I haven’t, either. 
I haven’t even a father. My daddy died al- 
most two years ago, away out in California.” 

“ My real father is dead, too,” said Prudence. 
“What?” asked Faith, in amazement. 
“ Isn’t Mr. Lane your own father? ” 

“ No.” Prudence made a gesture of despair. 
“ It’s a terrible tangle, but I’ll try to explain 
it. My own mother died and my father mar- 
ried again — married my present stepmother. 
Then my father died and left me to my step- 
mother, and she married again — married Mr 


IN NEW TORK 


3°3 

Lane. So they aren't even a little bit related 
to me ; only my stepmother is my guardian 
ai d has charge of the money my father left 
me. My real name isn't even Lane. It's 
Huntington — Prudence Huntington." 

Faith showed by her face how greatly sur- 
prised she was. 

“ Then I think I'd take my own name, any- 
way I " she said, with something like indigna- 
tion. 

“ I can't," returned Prudence, with a droop 
in her voice. “ I — can't have anything that 
belongs to me. My stepmother makes me call 
myself Prudence Lane — and I hate it! I 
don't want to be Prudence Lane ; I want to 
be my own self. My stepmother refuses to 
let me make the acquaintances I want, be- 
cause she says there are so few girls suitable 
to my station — think of that ! All my life 
I’ve been held up as something so very won- 
derful — at least, ever sirice my parents died — 
because, among other things, I happen to be 
descended from the Pilgrim fathers. My step- 


FAITH PALMER 


3°4 

mother is descended from them, too, and be- 
longs to ever and ever so many Colonial and 
Revolutionary societies and things of that 
sort ; and I'll have to belong to them, too, 
when I'm older. I suppose my stepmother 
will make me join every single one of them — 
but I won’t ! So there ! I hate the Pilgrim 

fathers and the Revolutionary generals ” 

“ Why, I don’t ! ” broke in Faith, her face 
a curious admixture of perplexity and amuse- 
ment. “ I don’t hate them, because I am de- 
scended from them myself. I am descended 
and descended and descended from them, in a 
dreadfully straight line, you know, without 
any breaks, Aunt Abigail says. I suppose all 
my grandfathers were generals or majors or 
captains or something or other — Aunt Abigail 
could tell you just what. I wish you could 
see our attic up at Chester. It’s full of old 
chests, and the old chests are full of generals’ 
uniforms, and majors’ uniforms and captains’ 
uniforms, and every one of them — all those 
men, I mean — were descended from the Pil- 


IN NEW YORK 


3°5 

grim fathers ; every one. And I am descended 
from all those men, and Aunt Abigail says 
there isn’t a drop of blood in me that’s 
plebeian — except on my mother’s side.” 

Faith’s voice suddenly fell off a bit, in dis- 
tress. 

“ My mother wasn’t descended from the 
Pilgrims,” she explained. “That’s why Aunt 
Abigail has never quite forgiven her for being 
my mother. But she wasn’t plebeian ; not 
one bit, even if she didn’t have generals and 
majors and captains for her grandfathers, and 
Pilgrims for her great-great-grandfathers. My 
mother’s father was a university professor, 
and I think that is just as good as being des- 
cended from generals I ” 

Prudence Huntington leaned back in her 
chair and looked at Faith. 

“ My stepmother has always imagined,” she 
said, “ that I was too blooded — that’s what 
they say about dogs — to associate with every- 
day people. She thinks the same thing about 
herself. She is always talking about ‘good 


306 FAITH PALMER 

families.’ Oh, Faith, Fm dreadfully ashamed 
of the things that have happened ; but now I 
am going to tell my stepmother that she can’t 
possibly claim anything over the Palmer fam- 
ily. I have so few friends — and not one real 
put-your-arm-around friend.” 

“ I have so few myself — that is, here in New 
York ! ” said Faith. “ And I knew all the 
time that it wasn’t you who wanted to be so 
exclusive. I told Aunt Abigail so.” 

“ Aren’t stepmothers terrible ? ” observed 
Prudence. “ Especially stepmothers who are 
descended from Pilgrims ! ” 

“ Well,” said Faith, rather thoughtfully, “ I 
don’t think I ever knew any other Pilgrim 
stepmother ; but I know two stepmothers up 
at Chester who are perfectly lovely to their 
stepchildren — just lovely. And their step- 
children love them as much as they did their 
own mothers ; maybe more.” 

Prudence sighed. 

“ Well,” she said, “ I am glad if some girls 
have lovely stepmothers. I don’t see why a 



“i AM SO GLAD YOU CAME” 









IN NEW YORK 


3°7 

stepmother can’t be lovely, if she really sets 
out to be. But I’m so glad I came in to-day, 
Faith. I’ve wanted so long to explain, but I 
couldn’t find a good opportunity.” 

“ You don’t need to explain any more,” 
laughed Faith. “ I understand it all well 
enough. I’m so glad you came, and I want 
you to see some of the things I’m getting 
ready for Christmas.” 

About an hour later the door-bell rang again. 
Ten seconds after it rang the first time, it rang 
a second time ; and its ring was very decisive 
and perhaps arrogant. 

. “ Mercy I” cried Faith, rising from the floor 
in her bedroom, where she and Prudence 
Huntington were looking over some fancy 
work Faith had been making for Kathryn 
Love’s Christmas gift. “ Mercy ! That’s Aunt 
Abigail’s ring, sure as anything ! Why, it’s 
nearly four o’clock ! ” 

“ Oh, it can’t be so late — but it really is I” 
cried Prudence, likewise scrambling to her 
feet and looking at the clock on Faith’s 


3 o8 FAITH PALMER 

dresser. “ Oh, oh ! What shall I do? Your 
Aunt Abigail will tear me to pieces if she 
catches me here 1 ” 

Faith looked about in distress. There were 
times when she felt a sudden return of her 
original awe of Miss Abigail. Now she re- 
membered only the diatribes of the old lady 
upon the Lane family and everything con- 
nected with it. Undoubtedly there would be 
some sort of scene if she found Prudence 
there. Of course she wouldn’t tear the girl to 
pieces, but she would be very haughty and dis- 
agreeable. It would humiliate Faith and hurt 
Prudence dreadfully. It mustn’t be. 

“ I’ll get under the bed ! ” suggested Pru- 
dence, in a frightened whisper. 

“ No ; don’t do that,” Faith whispered back. 
“ It would muss you up so.” 

She cast her eyes rapidly over the minia- 
ture room. Up at “ The Oaks ” there would 
have been any number of places of conceal- 
ment, where a person might hide for days 
without being discovered. But here in this 


IN NEW YORK 


3°9 

sky-house it was hard to hide even a Christ- 
mas present. 

“ Here ! ” she said, excitedly, after the sur- 
vey. “ Here, Prudence ; get into the closet — 
quick ! Oh, there are so many clothes in there 
that you'll have to get down on the floor. 
Can you do it — yes I Now don't breathe even 
a little bit l ” 

“ I've got to ! ” faltered Prudence, as she 
crouched in a corner, dragging down some of 
Faith's dresses upon her head. “ I’ve got to 
breathe just a little bit — and I'm afraid I'm 
going to sneeze. A-a-a-choo ! ” 

She lost her balance and fell over on 
the closet floor, while a couple more of 
Faith's garments came tumbling down upon 
her. 

However, there was no help for it. Faith 
shut the closet door and made sure it was 
latched. Just then she heard Aunt Abigail 
say, from the hall, addressing Ann, who had 
admitted her : 

“ Where is Faith ? " 


3 IQ 


FAITH PALMER 


“ She do be come, in few whiles / 7 said Ann. 
At least, Ann was loyal to Faith, though not 
diplomatic or resourceful. 

“ Here I am, auntie / 7 said Faith, herself, 
emerging from her bedroom with cheeks very 
red and her hair tumbled. She felt dread- 
fully guilty, for never before had she deceived 
her aunts in this way. Still, she felt just a 
little rebellious at the moment at the neces- 
sity for doing it. It was merely to prevent a 
most disagreeable scene, and her conscience 
quite justified her. And of course she should 
tell Aunt Abigail afterward. She didn 7 t mind 
Aunt Abigail's scenes herself — not a bit ! But 
she simply would not subject Prudence to 
unnecessary pain — hadn’t Prudence suffered 
enough ! 

“ Here I am, auntie,” she repeated. 

The old lady’s keen eyes saw at once that 
Faith had an unusual color. 

“ What have you been doing, child ? ” she 
inquired. 

“ Don’t ask me now,” returned Faith, with 


IN NEW TORK 


3 1 1 

an attempt at a laugh. “ I’m going to tell 
you all about it to-night.” 

Of course curious things were apt to happen 
on Christmas Eve, and Aunt Abigail took off 
her wraps without further inquiries. 

“ I fear you are making yourself ill,” she 
said, “ with your mysteries.” 

“ She do be work so hard,” condoled the 
wily Ann. 

Aunt Abigail went into her bedroom to take 
off her shoes and put on her slippers, because, 
as she observed with some emphasis, her mis- 
erable old feet were absolutely worthless and 
she never should have tried to wear those new 
shoes. And Aunt Deborah went into her 
bedroom, in turn, to lie down for a few minutes 
to rest her wretched old back. 

As soon as both the old ladies were thus en- 
gaged, Faith ran on her toes to her own room 
and opened the closet door. 

“ Quick ! ” she said, in a hoarse, excited 
whisper. “ Quick I — now is the chance to get 
out ! ” 


3 I2 FAITH PALMER 

There was no back door to the Palmer 
apartment. New York apartments aren’t 
noted for back doors. The only rear commu- 
nication with the outside world was by way of 
the dumb-waiter to the basement, by means of 
which parcels and supplies were received. 
But Prudence couldn’t get out that way. She 
must go by the front entrance. 

“ Quick ! — come along ! ” Faith repeated. 
Then she dragged away the dresses that cov- 
ered her friend and gave Prudence a helping 
hand. 

“ Oh, will you ever forgive me for getting 
you into all this trouble? ” the latter gasped, 
as she found herself on her feet. “ Will you 
ever ” 

“ Hush ! It isn’t any trouble. I’m so 
happy to do it. But don’t even whisper — and 
come along with me ! Walk on the very 
ends of your toes, and whatever else you do, 
don’t sneeze again ! I don’t think Aunt Abi- 
gail has got one shoe off yet.” 

Hand in hand, the two girls crept down the 


IN NEW TORK 


3 T 3 

ball, their eyes wary, their lips slightly parted 
in their excitement, and their cheeks burn- 
ing-red. If the newspaper photographer could 
have caught Faith now she would have made 
a masterpiece for the decoration of his front 
page. Prudence, too, would have outdone 
herself posing. 

They passed Aunt Deborah’s room with ab- 
solutely no noise, and slipped past Aunt Abi- 
gail’s partly-open door. Faith got a glimpse 
of the old lady’s back as she bent over in the 
struggle with her shoes. 

Then, very softly, Faith turned the catch — 
and Prudence slipped away, with a fervid 
pressure of the hand, but without even a 
whisper. Softly again, Faith closed the door. 

“ Where is that draft coming from ? ” called 
Aunt Abigail, as her grandniece entered the 
room. 

Faith ignored the question. 

“ Let me help you with your shoes, auntie,” 
she said. “ I know your poor old feet must 
hurt you just dreadfully.” 


3 i4 FAITH PALMER 

That night after Aunt Abigail was in bed 
Faith stole in again, sat down on the counter- 
pane, and put one hand caressingly on the old 
lady’s scant white locks. 

“ Auntie,” she said, sweetly, “ I’ve got a 
confession to make.” 

“ What have you spoiled now ? ” asked 
Aunt Abigail, not very severely. Only the 
day previous Faith had ruined the pudding 
by experimenting with some scientific theory 
of cooking. It wasn’t the fault of the theory, 
she insisted, but of herself. She hadn’t got 
the ingredients just right, and they burned. 

“ Oh, I haven’t spoiled anything this time,” 
Faith laughed. “ And I haven’t done any- 
thing so dreadfully terrible. But let me tell 
you first, auntie, that I have discovered the 
most lovely girl, who’s descended from the 
Pilgrims and the Puritans and the generals and 
majors and captains— just as much as I am.” 

“ Eh ? ” said Aunt Abigail, rising on one el- 
bow. If any subject appealed to her more than 
another, it was this matter of Puritan descent. 


IN NEW YORK 


3*5 

She had long held the Palmer family as far 
superior to the common herd who could not 
trace themselves back to such stock. 

“ She is a lovely girl,” insisted Faith, 
sympathetically, “ and so dreadfully lonely. 
Auntie, I want to invite her to have dinner 
with us to-morrow, because her stepmother 
and her sort-of stepfather always take Christ- 
mas dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria, and don’t 
like Christmas things because they muss up an 
apartment. She doesn’t want to go to the Wal- 
dorf— she wants a real friend I Auntie, she was 
here to see me to-day.” 

Her voice sank very low, and she patted 
the old lady’s head ever so gently. 

“ Who is she ? ” asked Aunt Abigail. “ You 
didn’t tell me that any girl was here.” 

“ No, I didn’t — didn’t tell you, auntie, 
because, you see — because I was afraid you 
would scold her for coming. I didn’t want 
her scolded. I — don’t care if you scold me, 
auntie, because I know you don’t mean it ; 
and I know you love me and I love you. But 


FAITH PALMER 


316 

it made me feel dreadfully to think that 
perhaps — -just perhaps! — you might scold 
Prudence — Prudence Lane ; only her real 
name ” 

“ Prudence Lane ! ” 

Aunt Abigail sat up suddenly in bed, very 
straight. 

“ Now I’ve told you,” said Faith, and her 
voice showed symptoms of tears. “ I never 
meant to keep it from you, and I haven’t. 
Won’t you lay your poor tired old head back 
on the pillow while I tell you every single 
thing about it? ” 

Faith choked a little, and Aunt Abigail lay 
back obediently. Then, holding her hand 
and stroking it now and then, she related, in 
detail, the story of Prudence Huntington’s 
call. Several times the old lady tried to sit 
up in bed ; several times she made quick, 
impetuous gestures and tried to speak ; several 
times she did speak. But when it was over 
she lay there on her pillow, quite silent, for 
Faith was crying. 


IN NEW YORK 317 

“ Now you’ll let me ask her to have Christ- 
mas dinner with us, won’t you, auntie? Now 
that you know all about it, you’ll let her 
come ? ” 

Aunt Abigail was silent for half a minute. 
Then she observed, not without a certain 
hardness : 

“ Ann will have to put another leaf in the 
table.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


BURNED TOAST 

When Faith returned from the Domestic 
Arts School one afternoon late in January, 
and let herself into the Palmer apartment, she 
smelled burning toast. It was a very familiar 
smell ; for old Angeline, the superannuated 
servant up at “ The Oaks,” had burned the 
toast every day for twenty years — so Aunt 
Abigail had often said. 

Angeline had been visiting her relatives 
near Boston, and resting, during the Palmers 1 
winter in New York. Indeed, it was Angel- 
ine’s breakdown that had finally brought 
about Miss Abigail’s consent to Faith’s plan 
to come to the metropolis. Without Angeline 
it had seemed quite impossible to keep “ The 
Oaks ” open. The old ladies had tried other 
girls while Faith was in Fordyce Hall ; but 
318 


IN NEW YORK 


3*9 

without Faith to manage them, all of them 
had gone their way quickly. 

Now Faith smelled the burning toast the 
moment she opened the front door to the 
apartment. 

“ Angeline is here ! ” she cried, sniffing. 
“ Angeline is surely here ! ” 

She tripped quickly down the hall to the 
kitchenette, and there, sure enough, was poor 
old Angeline, tall, spare, and with the same 
crooked nose. She was fairly enveloped in 
the pungent smoke from the toast which Ann 
had just rescued from the kitchenette toy 
range. Ann’s face was indicative of the most 
profound contempt. 

“ Aw-w ! ” she exclaimed, throwing the 
blackened slices into the sink and turning 
the water on them to stop the smoking. 
“ Aw-w ! why don’t you be stay where you 
b’long ? ” 

Just then Angeline flourished the toasting 
fork rather wildly, for Faith’s arms were 
about her neck. 


320 FAITH PALMER 

11 You dear old creature ! ” the girl cried. 
“ Where in the world did you come from, and 
how did you get here? Why, I thought you 
were sick, and I’ve been feeling so sorry for 
you ; and now here you are burning up the 
toast just as natural as life ! ” 

Angeline sat down, as Faith released her, 
and put the toasting-fork on the cover of the 
laundry tubs. 

“ I have had enough of my relatives,” she 
said. “ If a person is sick and wants to rest, 
relatives ain't the people to go to. But sure 
you are looking so sweet, Faith Palmer ! It 
ain’t no wonder your old aunts dote on you so. 
But such a place to live ! Land sakes alive ! ” 

Angeline held up her hands, palms outward, 
and rolled her eyes about the kitchenette. 

“ Deliver us ! ” she added, emulating the 
manner of Aunt Abigail. 

“ Lor’ deliver you ! ” snapped Ann, and 
strode out of the kitchenette and into her 
bedroom. 

“ I’m sorry you don’t like it,” said Faith, 


IN NEW TORK 


3 21 

laughing. “I think it's just lovely. But, 
Angeline, have you really come back to 
stay? ” 

The old woman looked really pathetic. 

“ Stay? ” she demanded. “ How can I stay 
when there ain’t room ’nough here for a fly 
to turn ’round, much less a human ? Of 
course I ain’t askin’ your aunts to turn no- 
body out for me. I reckon I ain’t much good 
no more. My work days is done. No, I 
ain’t come back to stay.” 

“ Yes, you have!” declared Faith. “ Of 
course you have ! We can fix you up a cot 
somewhere or other until we go back to ‘ The 
Oaks.’ It won’t be so very long, Angeline, 
before we’ll be getting ready to go. Won’t 
the old house seem funny after this ? But 
won’t it seem good ? ” 

Aunt Abigail came in just about then, from 
some guild meeting to which Mrs. Kellogg 
had taken her ; and Aunt Deborah came up 
from the janitor’s quarters. They received 
Angeline without marked enthusiasm. 


FAITH PALMER 


322 

But that night, after Angeline had retired 
on a cot across one end of the dining-room, 
Aunt Abigail observed to Faith that she sup- 
posed they should have to take care of the old 
creature the rest of her life. She had no place 
to go, and there was plenty of room at “ The 
Oaks.” 

“ Faith,” said the old lady, after this point 
was settled, “ how much longer do you reckon 
it will be before you get enough of this city of 
abandoned souls — this city whose wickedness 
cries to heaven, and where men have monopo- 
lized the ground and so many tiers of the air 
that one must get to the clouds to see the day- 
light in one’s home? You know that your 
Aunt Deborah and I came here for you, Faith, 
and we shall wear our cross, I suppose, until 
you are satisfied. But now that Angeline is 
here, we shall be seriously inconvenienced for 
room, especially as you desire to have so much 
company. I do not wish you to become frivo- 
lous, child. Your Prudence Lane has spent 
three evenings here within a week ” 


IN NEW TORK 


3 2 3 

“ Prudence Huntington, auntie,” corrected 
Faith. 

Miss Abigail waved aside the interruption. 

“ and your Brenda Hassell ” 

“ Brenda Castle, auntie. She’s coming to 
Chester to live. You know she’s to teach.” 

“ has been here once to dinner and 

once to stay all night. I believe you have had 
that squalling baby from the sixth floor up 

here every day for a month ” 

“ Why, auntie ! It isn’t a squalling baby— 
not one little bit ! ” 

“ and its mother makes herself uncom- 

fortably at home here. Elizabeth Fairchild 
and Kathryn Love are running in and out. I 
do not see how Elizabeth gets down to New 
York so often ; she must be neglecting her 
studies at Fordyce School and spending a 
great deal of money. The Fairchilds were al- 
ways extravagant, but I cannot believe that 
Elizabeth’s father knows how much of her 
time she spends in this city.” 

“ You know that Betty and Kathryn are 


FAITH PALMER 


3 2 4 

dear friends," explained Faith ; “ and when- 
ever Kathryn comes home Betty comes with 
her — usually. But really, auntie, it hasn't 
been many times ; not more than three or four 
all winter." 

“ Well," resumed Miss Abigail, dismissing 
Betty, “ I am sorry you have made the ac- 
quaintance of additional girls in this build- 
ing. I do not just approve of Marjoretta 
Hearse — " 

“ Marjorie Hurst, auntie, dear." 

“ and I do not just see why you hunted 

her out and brought her here. She has a de- 
ceitful look about her, somehow or other." 

“ Oh, auntie ! I don't believe she’d tell 
the tiniest bit of a fib. She says her prayers 
every night, Marjorie does. But probably I 
shouldn't have known her if it hadn’t been 
for that baby. She saw me holding it, and 
she wanted to hold it, too ; so I told her to 
come along up here to the apartment and she 
could. And she did." 

“ There is another thing I should like to 


IN NEW YORK 325 

speak to you about, while we are on this sub- 
ject of promiscuous acquaintances,” continued 
Miss Abigail, having in turn dismissed this 
latest of Faith’s friends. “ That Worthington 
boy has been here every Saturday night dur- 
ing January.” 

Faith’s face went suddenly crimson. 

“ Oh, you are mistaken, auntie ; surely you 
are ! He has been here only three Saturday 
nights. But Betty was here one of those 
nights, and Prudence Huntington on two of 
them ; so I don’t know whom he came to see. 
Prudence is a beautiful girl, and I shouldn’t 
be one bit surprised if Bruce liked her better 
than he likes me. Why shouldn’t he? ” 

“ He should be up at Yale College, studying 
his lesson ; not gallivanting about New York 
City. In my day, such things were not per- 
mitted. Boys were not allowed to call on the 

girls ” 

“ But, auntie, I don’t care one single thing 
for Bruce Worthington — only he is funny 
sometimes, and makes the girls laugh. He is 


326 FAITH PALMER 

just the smart age, you know. And he is 
rather a good-looking boy, and the girls sort 
of like him ; and it’s handy to have boys 
around sometimes, to do errands.” 

Miss Abigail was silent for a minute, reflect- 
ing. 

“ Well,” she said, at length, “ when you 
are ready to return to Chester I trust you may 
appreciate your home all the more.” 

“ Oh, I do love my home I ” the girl cried. 
“ And I’m ready to go back to it just the 
minute you say. I’ve had a lovely time in 
New York, but I’m satisfied. And after all, 
auntie, people are just people, whether they 
live in sky-houses or ground-houses. New 
York doesn’t change people much — I don’t 
care what some folks say ! Auntie, if we can 
stay here until the first of March, I’ll be so 
happy to go back to Chester.” 

A look of immense relief came into the old 
lady’s eyes. 

“ And I’m sure,” Faith went on, “ that you 
and Aunt Deborah never will have any cause 


IN NEW TORK 


327 

to regret bringing me here. I’ve worked 
hard, auntie, really I have. Of course I’ve 
had some jolly times ; but work has been the 
main thing. Don’t you think so, Aunt Abi- 
gail?” 

Faith was a bit anxious. 

“ Yes, you have worked, Faith ; I am not 
finding fault with you. But there comes a 
time when one has had enough of a thing.” 

“ But really,” Faith answered, “ this winter 
in New York has done wonders for me. You 
and Aunt Debby don’t realize it now as much 
as you will after we’re home.” 

“ I imagine we shall keep hearing about 
the domestic school,” objected Miss Abigail, 
dryly. 

“ Yes, you will. You know, I can see that 
I’m a different sort of girl, in some respects, 
from what I was when I came down here. 
I’m — well, I’m more like a matron. I feel 
like going ahead and doing things, because I 
know how to do them. I can plan a meal, 
auntie — and I do love our meal-planning 


328 FAITH PALMER 

course at different costs. I can cook a meal, 
too. Yes, and I can plan things all over the 
house ; at least, I’m beginning to know how 
to do it. Our lessons on ‘ Emergencies ’ has 
helped me so much ! Why, auntie, I can 
even plan a house itself — think of that 1 
Don’t you think I’ve developed into some- 
thing of a wonder ? ” 

She laughed happily. 

“ I think,” remarked Aunt Abigail, “ that 
you have developed in several directions. 
Your sense of conceit does not appear to have 
suffered.” 

Faith got up and put her arms about Aunt 
Abigail’s neck, as she was wont to do when 
she had some bright thought to communicate. 

“ Auntie,” she said, “ I saw the dearest little 
car in an automobile store window to-day — 
the cutest little blue tourabout you ever saw. 
It was for sale ! ” 

“ Automobile ! For sale ? ” Miss Abigail 
was suspicious. 

“ .Yes ; it would hold you and Aunt Deborah 


IN NEW TORK 


3 2 9 

in the back seat, and I’m sure I could sit in 
front and steer it.” 

“ Have you lost your senses ? ” The old 
lady put on her glasses. 

“ Oh, I didn’t mean that I could steer it 
here in New York. I never should think of 
such a thing. But I surely could steer it in 
Chester. I thought — thought perhaps we 
might — might afford it next summer ” 

“ Never ! ” Aunt Abigail was very much 
horrified. “Automobile? Faith, you amaze 
me!” 

“ Well, if we can’t afford it, auntie, of course 
I’ll not say ahother word. I was afraid we 
couldn’t—” 

“ Afford it ! ” Aunt Abigail’s eyes snapped 
fire. “ We could afford it if I chose to buy it. 
I am not talking of what we can afford and 
what we cannot. Automobile ! Deliver us ! ” 

“ Well, then,” concluded Faith, “ we’ll not 
think another thing about it — not now ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


TO THE GRAND CENTRAL 

It was a raw Saturday early in March, with 
a mixture of rain and snow, and a blustering 
wind that blew over the Hudson River and 
across the roofs between the river and Morn- 
ingside Drive. It was scarcely a day for 
pleasure-motoring, and probably most of the 
automobiles that were out in New York had 
business in hand. The big Worthington tour- 
ing-car certainly had business, as Bruce took 
it up the circling street on the Heights and 
brought it to a crunching stop in front of the 
Morningside Apartment Building. 

He left it there and went inside. Half an 
hour later he emerged, bearing three suit-cases 
in one hand and some shawl-straps and 
steamer-rugs in another. Back of him came 
the colored hall-boy Faith had shaken awake 
— who was working in the daytime now so 
33 ° 


IN NEW YORK 


33 1 

that he might not be tempted — bearing some 
more baggage and wraps. 

Back of him came the janitor, dragging a 
trunk, and back of him the janitor's wife, 
helping. 

Next was Aunt Abigail, supported by Faith, 
for the sidewalk was treacherous with ice ; and 
next to them came Aunt Deborah, supported 
by Betty — and stepping very gingerly, you 
may be sure. 

Finally came old Angeline, walking alone, 
and back of her, with high head and firm 
tread, Ann, also alone. 

“ All right ! ” said Bruce, dropping his load 
and supporting Miss Abigail on the opposite 
side from Faith. “ Steady — here you are ! 
Up just another step, please ! ” And Miss 
Abigail was deposited safely in the rear of the 
car. 

It was Miss Deborah's turn next, and then 
Angeline's, and then Ann's ; and finally Faith 
and Betty got up in front, next to the driv- 
ing-seat. 


FAITH PALMER 


33 2 

Bruce was cranking up when another auto- 
mobile skidded close behind them and stopped. 
Kathryn Love got out rather hurriedly, and 
then, more sedately, Miss Leah Churchill. 

“ We are going to trail you to the station,” 
said Kathryn ; “ and of course we’ll take Betty 
back.” 

“ I almost wish I were going along with 
them to Chester,” sighed Betty. “ It seems so 
long to wait until summer ; and I’m tired to 
death of Fordyce and work and — and every- 
thing except having my own way, as Faith 
does.” 

“ Why, Betty Fairchild ! ” laughed Faith, 
pulling the fur robe over her and over Betty. 

“ Well, you do have your own way ! ” Betty 
insisted. “ When you want to go to New 
York, you go there ; and when you want to 
go home, back you go. If you don’t like one 
school, you go to another ; and if you want a 
dear blue little automobile, your aunts go 
straight and buy one for you. Never in the 
world could I get my father and mother to 


IN NEW YORK 


333 

buy a blue automobile for me — or any other 
kind of automobile.” 

“ You have automobiles — two or three of 
them,” reminded Faith. 

“ But not my very own — not a single one ! ” 
“ Well,” argued Faith, “ the blue car will 
be my aunts', of course. They need it more 
than I do, but I shall have to steer it for them 
and make it go. Aunt Abigail could never 
steer an automobile — could you, auntie? ” 
Faith turned her face toward the back. 

“ Well, I should hope not I ” said Miss 
Abigail. 

* “ All ready ! ” said Bruce, bouncing up to 
the driving-seat, amid trunks and bags. “ All 
ready ; we're off! ” 

The levers crunched and the car moved. 
Faith, peering out from under the top, looked 
back at the towering Morningside Building. 

“ Oh, I can scarcely realize that I am 
going away from it — going away for good ! 
Really, it does seem like home, doesn't it, 
auntie? ” 


FAITH PALMER 


334 

As usual, either aunt might have been 
included, or both. Both answered. 

“ Deliver us ! ” said Aunt Abigail. 

“ I shall remember it,” said Aunt Deborah, 
diplomatically. 

“ And there is Prudence Huntington, wav- 
ing at us from a window ! ” cried Faith, in sud- 
den exuberance, almost going head first out 
of the car. Betty caught her and held her. 

“ Oh, Betty, give me a handkerchief — 
quick ! There’s that dear baby, too ; and I 
do believe it is waving good-by. Look, Betty, 
look ! ” 

Betty, too, put out her head and nearly 
twisted it off looking back. 

“ And there’s Marjorie Hurst — she’s got the 
baby ! ” she said. 

“ Is anybody else waving?” asked Faith, 
with a break in her voice. “ I — I can’t see, 
Betty. You — your head is right in my way.” 

“ Yes, I think there is somebody else wav- 
ing ; but I can’t make out who it is. Here, 
give me the handkerchief and I’ll wave back.” 


IN NEW TORK 


335 

She did wave back, very vigorously, until 
the car was too far around the circle and the 
Morningside Building was lost to view. Then 
she put the handkerchief in her muff and 
leaned back. For a minute she was silent 
— quite a while for Miss Betty Fairchild. 
Meanwhile the car picked up its speed, wheeled 
around several corners in a rather risky 
manner, and came into Broadway, going south 
toward the Grand Central Station, that mighty 
gateway to the metropolis. Somehow, nobody 
seemed to have much to say — not even Bruce. 

Betty was the first to break the silence. 

“ Don’t cry, Faith,” she said, very softly. 

“ I — I can’t help it,” said Faith. 


Other Books in this Series are : 

FAITH PALMER AT THE OAKS 
FAITH PALMER AT FORDYCE HALL 
FAITH PALMER IN WASHINGTON (In press) 


























































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